These people are important to us, so let’s give them names. The guy’s name was Adloris, or Add for short. In the year 2012, on the day right after all those car bombs, Add was age 22 and working in the city. It had been one year, five months since he had been kissed on the lips. One year and five months prior was the end of his relationship with his then girlfriend, whose name was Yvonne, or Evie or Eve for short. Prior to the relationship, it had been 20-some years since Add had been kissed on the lips. Add figured that if he could go 20 years without a kiss, he could reasonably go another 20 without a Big Incident along the lines of (1) murder or (2) suicide or (3) murder-suicide or (4) a grotesque spectacle in a minor yet important administrative government building — say the parks department office or a DMV — culminating in a (5) murder, (6) suicide, or (7) murder-suicide. This is sound mathematical reasoning, as far as mathematics can be applied to matters of the heart/lips.
This Add thought about, a lot, when he drove home. He also thought heart/lips would be a pretty good band name, which at least I would have to agree with. After a few weeks of proceeding down this line of inquiry, which inquiry involved a great deal of computing a multi-dimensional probability distribution of finding a soul-mate keyed off of decreasing standards and increasing desperation over time convolved with the inevitable boost in handsomeness as he aged, shed his acne, worked out, etc. plus the backtracking to insure no branch of thought had been left un-walked (no stone un-turned, to borrow a cliché), he decided that the first 20 was a lot easier than the second 20. Around this time summer happened.