At a party. A house party. Lock eyes with another. Talk to eachother. For about an hour. You are married. Probly settled. You tell me you like my home. You ask me questions. 99 questions. About my schoolin' -just so you can tell me about your JD. You explain yourself away. Constrained. Your words choke me, like the vines of your regret. I'd rather talk to George now. He doesn't talk much. And when he does, his words are empty of all imposed meaning. But don't worry. Girl, I'm just as bad as you.