I dated Stacy in 2004, while I was living in New Orleans, during the precise middle of the Bush years; the year that Bush was running for re-election against John Kerry, the exact year that it started to seem like the whole Bush thing would just never end. (And indeed, it didn’t end for another four years.) It was a bad time for our nation, but a good time — as it turned out — for my sex life.
I was in my car and on my way to buy an Airport Express when my lung collapsed. I decided to go ahead with the purchase, partially because I wasn’t sure what was happening to me, and partially because I had driven 45 minutes in traffic to get to the computer store.