"Some day my prince will come," he sang in the shower, while his hands danced an off-rhythm minuet.

And one day his prince did come. Straight out of some fairy tale, his prince came to him across a darkened bar room late one Saturday night. Ralph looked up and he was there. He was tall and skinny and ugly, and he was grinning and he was embarrassed.

"I've noticed you a lot, and you're always alone," he said.

"What?" Ralph asked, not able to comprehend the enormous stupidity of the man's statement. What the hell did he expect, an endless flood of admirers following him around, begging for his autograph? Of course he was alone, Goddamnit.

"May I sit with you?"

"I... guess so." What was this man going to do, show him pictures of his old lover? Give him a copy of The Watchtower? Cut his throat?

"My name's Ed Barnes," the man said.

"Ralph McCasslin."

After a considerable chase the man captured Ralph's right hand and shook it. Ralph had never shaken hands with a man without embarrassment. But there was something about this handshake that gave him a little confidence. For one thing, Ed didn't touch his hand like he was grabbing a gob of snot. He took the hand firmly and with heartiness.

"I don't get in here much," Ed said, still holding his hand. After a long moment he let it go and smiled. "But I've seen you around here sometimes. Hey, you have pretty hands."

Ralph looked down at them. They were pretty. Small and slender and white, jumping and frisking like puppies.

"I guess so."

"Did I say something wrong?"

"No. God, no. Except that no one ever said that before."

"You're good looking, too. I'm not though. I know that. I'm so goddamned ugly that I can't stand to shave, for having to look at myself."

Ralph was good looking. His blue eyes were clear and deep and un-watery. His little white face was as clear and smooth as a girl's. His good looks were wasted, of course, since no one cold bear to look him in the face.

It was true that Ed was ugly. He looked like the end product of an insane child who had frenziedly mutilated a Mr. Potato face kit. His hair was almost white, and was cut so close to his head that his pink scalp showed through. His teeth were small, with little spaces between.

"My father," Ed said, "used to say, 'It's not a sin to be ugly, but you could at least stay home.'

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"Looks don't make any difference," Ralph said. He was trembling with excitement. Here was a man who was afraid of women, and who was even afraid of normal-looking men. So he was here. Thank God. But it was really too much to expect that he was really interested.

"Can I buy you a drink, or something," Ed asked.

"Yes, you can buy me a drink, and you can also something."

Ed smiled, and then they laughed and all was right with the world. What happened later was too good to really be happening. Ralph had lived twenty-three years alone, and it was asking too much for that celibacy to end.

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