Frenchette / Connie Champagne

In the big bin of used CDs one spine reads Connie Champagne, red on blue, and I pry it out. In a daze I buy it, whatever it costs, I don’t care. It is her, from the Frolic Room, from that house she rented up on Camrose, where we watched TV in her bed. We did it some because that came naturally but there wasn’t any chemistry for it. Like old married people we just phased it out and went along, dinners, movies, the constant stories. She moved in for a while, then out again to a sublet. I let her stay alone night after night though, she had so few friends.