Ready for the airport, there was a black limousine waiting for me in the white zone on Polk Street outside my high-rise apartment building. Michelle grabbed my (exactly 17lb-) pack to load it in the car. All of this display was chivalrous, especially for Michelle who always opted for the cheapest mode of anything, but it was only week four of our dating and initial infatuation. The period of time when sex and the euphoria of new attraction overrode any red flags about whether we were not an ideal match. I was already displeased that the last frantic days of preparation for my long walk had been met with her silent treatment of disappointment and a sour tone of injustice. How dare I not pay attention and accept her attempts to spend time together. It was the fact that we were lovers that decided she would be the one to accompany me to the airport. I felt a sense of obligation and it was a bitter mix with the memory of her naked body the night before. I couldn’t tell whether my decision to steel away for this hour of titillation was out of desire or a need to do the right thing. I carried this resentment with me as though it were another few ounces in my already overweight pack.