He was late. He was always late. This time he swore to her that he wasn't going to be late again. This time he even stuck a half dozen Post' um around his office reminding him not to be late for the dinner tonight. This dinner was very, very, very important to her. The "Her" in the last few sentences was his fiancé Jennifer. Not Jenny, nor Jen, but as she would always reminded him it was Jennifer. Jennifer Leoncourt to be precise of The Leoncourt of the Upper West Side.

The day he meet her is burned in his mind. He was pumping gas into his beat up old joke of a car when she came rolling into the gas station. The car was tilted in a way that cars only do when they have a flat. When she got out of the car his breath was taken away. Up until that very moment he believed that that was just a figure of speech. Boy was he wrong.

She was leaning on the side of the car chatting away on a cell phone by the time he got to her. She smiled. He smiled. A few dates, a new job working for her daddy, a new wardrobe mostly Armani, and his life was changed.

So here he is racing down the sidewalk looking for a taxi cab. He quickly looked at his watch. It was at that very moment that he tripped over a pile of garbage that was laying across the sidewalk.

"Fuck me." he breathed. He got up and wiped himself down. He had torn his pants. There was so much blood coating his pant leg. "Fuck" this time he said it a little louder. He bent down to see only a scratch. "Where the hell did all this blood come from." He thought.

He turned to look at the pile of trash hoping that it wasn't one of "those" places throwing out their "waste". He had heard about one of the clinics doing something like that on TV a few months ago. And then he saw it breath.

Then he saw her. How the hell could he not have seen her there a moment ago? She was dressed in rags but still he swore it was just a pile of trash a moment ago. She looked up at him and said...