He said he was an artist. He forgot to prefix it with “con.”
I found him, romancing a naïve young woman in Monterey. He promised her a beachfront California mansion, stirring breezes, wines from Napa, diamonds and emeralds.
I promised her truth. “He took everything from me.”
She batted eyelashes. “He loves me, adores me. He’s everything”
She repeated it so many times that I almost believed her.
Twelve months and two days later, she showed up on my doorstep, blue crescents under her green eyes. “How do we nail that m-f-ing SOB?”