Slowie is hiding out.

"Scared me out of my mind."

"What?"

"None of your business."

"It takes one to make a conversation go right and two to make it out of sight."

"It happen to me once."

"What?"

"What is with all the what's?"

"Huh?"

"The most dangerous thing in my entire life."

"You spent an evening alone."

"Your close for once. But let me explain. I was actually in love, or something that felt like 100 heart attacks on a daily basis."

"You?"

"This was years ago, ages, before it was me with the Monster truck guy, choker, Mr. Excitement, the rapist, eager the driller and the stalker, before these wonderful Saturday nights of dread there was something incredibly different."

"You don't know what love is."

"Unfortunately I do. It is a wrecking. It is the ground moving and the sky falling. It is a incredible warm sensation that changes the direction of the blood flow in your body as you hold a family bag size of chips at Walgreen's check out and you happen to think about the person for the thousandth time in an hour. It asks so fucking much from you that you tear down the street trying to get away from it. It is brutality on the heart. An assault that has you saying incomprehensible things about babies and joint tax returns and love songs. It is the scariest thing known to man but also the most beautiful and incredible experience you can have that explains your entire existence if you can make it to the warm loving nugget in the center and hold on. So if you are not feeling this in a relationship, then you are not in love. You are faking it. You are hiding out, like I am with my monster truck guy and the choker--easily where I am afraid to be alone and I can again be concerned with how fabulous I look and of course accept fucking as a consolation prize when it comes to the sky falling."

"How romantic."

"Yes. How safe."

"And you look wonderful."

"I know that. It's again the only thing that remains."