She woke up and climbed down the stairs feeling thirsty and in want of fresh air...

     That day--actually it was about three in the morning--his beautiful, full breasted wife rolled off the bed, unsatisfied, and said: "this is it, buddy. I feel thirsty, in want of fresh air, it`s been good but no more sex, life is much more than a grunt and a sigh." And she opened the window as if she were the star in a droll performance, as if her integrity were unassailable, and stumbled down the fire escape of the Lower East Side apartment.

       Walter, that was his name, reached after her half-heartedly. Where there is a will, there is a way. Love is as fickle as a Spring flower. When it's there, the sun shines golden and inexhaustible. Then it vanishes in a click and leaves but befogged thoughts, like the steady drone of traffic on 5th avenue. He blinked, rubbed his eyes, gazed dumbfoundedly at a book lying at the side of the bed:

      "A revolution is not a dinner party, or writing an essay, or painting a picture, or doing embroidery; it cannot be so refined, so leisurely and gentle, so temperate, kind, courteous, restrained and magnanimous..." The words were those of Chairman Mao. He was talking about social upheavals. But perhaps, mused Water, perhaps love is something like a revolution...