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December 7, 2002
" Itsalotlikejazz," she slurred to me in a smoky exhale.


"What is?" I queried.


"Sex," she replied offhandedly, as if she were somewhat disconnected from the idea.


Sex. I bounced the word from synapse to synapse like a beach ball at a rock concert. I knew I was disconnected from it. I don't even remember the last time I had any. Had to be a least five years ago, barring the aborted attempts with my ex. Like jazz, huh? If she means I know I like it without quite understanding it, well then….


"Yes. Sex is a lot like jazz."