He brings out the souvenirs.

First a letter, an earring, then a belt buckle turns into a lock of hair which gives way to a single tooth.

You tell your friend to “Stop!”

Panting, trying not to give into the fear that has crept inside. Amidst a maniac?

With an outstretched right arm, the incredulously offended ….

“These are all from first dates?” Someone had to break the silence. That someone was you.

“Well yes. I progressed- the dates got better.”

“Better?!”