Dear St. Louis, I’m sorry, baby, but I’m leaving you for another city. We got into this relationship too fast and for all the wrong reasons. I was on the rebound from Chicago. In comparison, you seemed so stable, so down to earth, so much less likely to stab me fourteen times in my sleep and blame it on the voices inside your camera. That seemed sexy – or at least safe. I didn’t really know you, though. I’ve tried to adapt, sugar, but I’m not your kind of girl. I didn’t go to your high school. I’m a flaming…
