He’s up up and away that way. Rob-man up-up and up-and-gone in slow motion, faster than the eye can think.

But romantic interests take your number, and take you home by the hand (the other hand), brushing the hair from your blinking eyes. Walking home in the rain, carried through puddles and around potholes. Romantic interests slowly undress you by the fireplace, and you don’t have to go to work the next morning.

Or they are up up and gone in the blink of an eye, never seen or heard from again. The angel and the hobo: the disappearing kind. Here today, gone today, all in the blink of a day. Till the moon comes over the hill. And then night.