My friend came over, to my COVID apartment.

He has a heart of gold.

“I don’t know if I can take one more minute of this,” I told him.

“COVID?”

“Living alone.”

“I thought you liked to live alone.”

“I do, but I also don’t. I know that no woman can tolerate me, and I won’t be able to tolerate her, but I need a woman.”

“Or a robot.”

“That might work, but I’d want to have sex all the time.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“I’d become an addict. That’s why I need a woman to say ‘no’ to me.”

“Won’t you resent her?”

“Yes. I know…I know… it’s an impossible situation.”

“Here’s some groceries, man.”

“You bought me groceries…? You’re a good friend. Vitamin Bars, and Kombucha, and Protein, and Chili, and Perrier. I need a woman like you.”

“Thanks, man.”

“I mean it. What tipped you off?”

“Remember, when I asked if you needed anything from the store, and you said, ‘no, I’m fine—I have eggs and ice cream.’ That was the inspiration. Have you written anything?”

“Yes, but not very good.”

“It’ll be interesting to see how COVID affects your writing.”

“Yes—it feels like I have brain damage. You can be the judge…”

“Who? Me?”

“No. My readers.”

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