I’d dropped the giant wine glass filled generously on the floor in Heywood Davenport’s living room. I watched it tumble from my grasp and splash all over the multi-colored Chinese inspired rug. It splattered like the blood from a gunshot wound to the head; to the heart. I paused as the scene slowly began to register with me. I fell to my knees and started sopping up the mess with the napkin previously housing my hors d’ouevres. I pressed and pounded into the rug, a slow motion exhibit for wandering eyes around the room, as the burgundy rage seeped through the napkin dissolving it completely. “Oh Miriam!” Dash Edwards said as he turned away from the mystery of the tarot cards he’d picked. In that moment the glue used to keep everything in my life together evaporated like the napkin. I slumped over, sobbing and screaming, wishing for death.