I gathered my beach towel and book to go up to her sixth floor apartment. I looked up to see her lean over the railing and throw my canvas suitcase over the edge.
Relationships in the seventies were like rugby scrimmages. We were all players and many players got muddied and some got bloodied.
She was what used to be described in my day as a plain Jane — not to say she wasn’t attractive and not to ignore a seductive pursing of her lips.