“Do you read?” Damien asked, taking a sip of lemonade. The young lady blinked. “Like…books?” He thought, ‘At least she’s pretty.’, and excused himself. He’d courted several girls, but needed a perfect match. Mothers gave him sour looks; apparently, he was a notorious flirt. He was rich, handsome, and funny, but also a hypocrite for seeking a smart wife while being less than brilliant himself. He spotted a familiar face, Anon, whom he’d met at a ball two weeks prior. He approached, intending to greet them, but couldn’t recall their last name.