We knew a guy who was a burning house fleeing a man. And another guy whose head was one of those take-apart plastic models of the female reproductive system. And we knew a guy who went hunting one day and accidentally ended up shooting his inner child. And we knew a guy who everybody called Edna, including his own mom. And another guy who wasn't a guy, but a five-decade fiasco. We see his face in the mirror sometimes, when we forget not to look.
He fell for her like his heart was a mob informant and she was the East River.