Tonight the loneliest girl in Sydney is cold. The 10 degree winter chill only exacerbates the loneliness.
Her stomach grumbles with fury. She skipped dinner tonight; dinner is never particularly exciting when you have no one to eat with.
She wonders if Steve Martin's The Lonely Guy was based entirely on her biography.
She's also thinking about someone she met last week. Too bad he's gone. She found him quite pompous and full of himself anyway, but intelligent nonetheless. How does one date? How does the process work again? She's been stuck in her bubble of security too long to remember.
And when Thoreau said I have never found a companion that was so companionable as solitude. We are for the most part more lonely when we go abroad among men than when we stay in our chambers, did he mean it?
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