A Letter From AW

My Dearest Patwoman,

As January breathes its cold winter breath across the Northern Hemisphere, I cannot help but remember an earlier, colder winter and long for the smoldering heat of your eyes.

That's right, my love. I have not forgotten Helsinki. And how could I? Your glistening skin as you lithely dodged the laser motion sensors, your shapely calves as you skillfully vaulted the rooftops, and your electrifying smile as you so nearly escaped my capture.

Oh yes. I never shared that with you, my crafty minx. You nearly evaded me. But, luckily for both of us, you didn't see that smelt-on-a-stick vendor until it was too late. To this day, I can't eat any sort of fishsicle without becoming incredibly aroused.

Oh, Patwoman! Such adventures we had. And could have again. Just say that you will, my darling.

Until then, I am forever your...

AW

***

My Dear Adam,

I had nearly forgotten the smelt-on-a-stick vendor! And his silly hat with all the bells! I can see his expression--at once fearful and excited--as we slid, head to toe, beneath his cart.

And all of that yelling! It was years before I realized he wasn't actually cheering!

But alas! Ours is a fire that burns too hot, Adam. A fire that cooks fish and melts ice in the winter and makes passers-by cover the eyes of their small children, even as they, themselves, are staring and calling out things like "Hey, how did you get your tights off so quickly?" and "For God's sake, you animals! Not on the fish!"

That kind of fire, my love, can't last forever. But it can feed our memories, dear. Feed us like those fish...

Mmm... fish.

Adam, call me.

Patwoman