Henry got terribly drunk that evening, unable as he was to stop chugging down glass after glass of scotch and other strong alcoholic beverages.
“Julie, Julie,” he kept slurring, addressing no one in particular. Why won’t you love me the way I love you?
The question that haunted him was not answered, seeing as he had kept it to himself. Besides, he didn’t believe anybody had the answer to be honest.
A leggy blonde approached him, seeking a bed partner for the night it would seem. “Hey handsome,” she greeted as she trailed a nail down his torso. Henry simply swatted her hand before sending her on her way.
I have lost interest in women, he mused, a self-derisive smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. In all women who are not Julie.
He remembered that he had left Sacramento witho
