A girl comes up to me with blood pouring out of her nose. We staunch the flow and clean up her chin and neck. She says her female metabolism has gotten all screwy recently because of an affair she's been thinking of having. I tell her I don't know all that much about female things: all I know is what I've heard here and there. I help her off with her blouse, which is badly stained. "Who were you thinking of having an affair with?" I ask her. "This guy..." she says, shrugging, and she looks off at the floor. I look at her shoulders, which are rounded and pink, and at the roundnesses of her bra, which are also pink. She sees me looking and she flushes and hugs herself modestly and her nose begins to to flood again. "Oh no," she says. The blood is bright, the color of cherries, and it has a delicate almost floral smell to it. I get a towel, then another, then a third. By the time things are more or less wiped up and clean again, the girl and I are surrounded by a crimson litter of towels. My own shirt is soaked. I shake my head as I go over to the sink. "Whoever it is, I suggest you have this affair very soon," I tell her.