I have three days until Valentine's Day. I sit at my polished mahogany desk, Tchaikovsky thundering behind me, and ponder how to further woo Julie, the woman I'm falling in love with. I consider taking her out of town for the weekend, but a lack of funding precludes a trip. I could send her flowers if I hadn't sent her roses a month prior. Maybe I should take her out to dinner-- no, a simple dinner reeks of simplicity.
             "Hmm," I mumble, "what can we do that's romantic and doesn't cost very much?" It comes to me in a flash of insight: I can replay our first date. The plan crystallizes as our first date replays through my mind. We'll journey to the beach in the afternoon. We'll eat at that little pizza place. What did they call it? Oh, yeah; it's named Felipe's. Sentimental value increases the greasy joint's romantic appeal. After dinner, I'll offer her my arm and we will meander down the boardwalk preceding sunset. When our feet bring us below the Pacific Palms Hotel where our lips first touched, I'll kiss her again. When our intimate embrace concludes, I'll guide her farther along the boardwalk to the gray concrete bench we held each other on that beautiful night. Sitting on that too-uncomfortable bench, I will cradle her in my arms and watch the sun slide below the horizon. My body shivers as I envisage holding her tight to keep her warm. We'll sit there, with her wrapped tightly in my arms!
             Confusion besets me. Where should I go from there? I can't expect her to want to just leave after that sacred moment. It needed something more. My right calf muscle spasms as I wade through the possibilities. Nothing comes to me that seems perfect. Once again, inspiration shakes me. I'll write her a letter! A long, poetic sharing of how I care for her. After the sun sets, I'll give her the letter and watch her beautiful face as she rea...