we had a fight over falafel one night. it's not how i wanted to start the story, but we had a fight over falafel because i was feeling very unsexy, unenterable, impermeable, and had a sadistic compulsion to go hunt for my own falafel place. fittingly it was bad, i remain hungry. i limped back to your corner of the square having swallowed a very dry, crumbly bit of ego. i'm worried that if we sit and stare at each other for too long you will see me falling apart too. i don't know a lot about love but it deserves more than a dinner table where i say are you listening and you respond to what question? maybe i'm not being clear enough. when we are on the bus to prague two very loud french girls are very loudly fingering each other -- rather one is getting fingered by the other -- which we realize first by the violent thumping on the back of my seat which is reverberating into yours. "I think --" I begin. "-- I know." you say. More thumping, faster. W...