Comic Relief

It's a general rule of mine. I have very few. I abide by this one.
If one person watches you do standup, they will not laugh. Well, I shouldn't say that. But they will laugh less.
Crying is private. Laughter is social. Other people need to be around. When did you last laugh out loud by yourself?
People are admitted for less.
I am to have a satisfying night at The Victory in a few days, but Marie will not be there. She will be on a bus, or a plane, or she will be in a bathroom. She will not be at The Victory.
I've never done this before. I doubt I ever will again.
But she's been paying for everything during the past week, so...
We drive to Bowering Park. She tells me a story about losing an ear bud foam thingy. I tell her a story involving an ex-girlfriend and the swans in front of us.
There are ruffians on the tennis court. It is too dark to play tennis.
Aside: Playing tennis when it is too dark to play tennis is unwise. Ditto for frisbee.
We find a nook. Gnoll.
I concentrate and organize myself. It looks as sexual as one would assume:

Notice the coffee stain on the crotch, if you can pick it out.
"That's a big one," I say immediately after saturating the area of my pants that (shamefully) hides my genitalia.
She laughs. But not as much as she would have in a crowd.
Thirteen hours we spend together. I can barely stand myself for thirteen hours. After being awake for eight or so I start avoiding mirrors. And still lakes.