Meanwhile, I continued to grope for some kind of future in the Mile High City. My sister had left Denver. I drifted back to a Denver college, studying at various times drawing, community service development, accounting, and computer science. I worked as a bookkeeper, bus boy, janitor, handy man, pre-school aide, cab driver, and computer operator. I lived merely from day to day, never imagining leaving Denver. I dated a few women, had flings with fewer still, yet never found one to whom I was willing to open my heart. (Nor did it help that, my feminist posturing notwithstanding, I opened my lonely eyes a little too often to the hot, unreal voids of Playboy, Penthouse, and cruder magazines.)
One day, however, my fondness for country-and-western music eventually led me to a class in such country dances as two-step, schottische, and waltz. There I met a woman, a long-time Coloradan, with whom I fell in love. Her career as a physician was soon to take her to Albuquerque, New Mexico. Before long, we were agreeing to join one another there.
