The Top
The reason why I could never get him back was: he was at the top. He wasn’t like the others who, if you thought about it long enough, went back to the bottom somewhere. He was at the top of the heap of the desperate.
And beneath him was me; and beneath me was Ron; and beneath Ron was his ex-wife; and beneath his ex-wife was her yoga instructor; and beneath her yoga instructor were all his students who, really, did worship him; and beneath the students were countless ex-boyfriends and ex-girlfriends, some of which would surprise you with their talent and looks; and beneath them probably half of New York State, plus pockets of cities on the West Coast and much of the Islington neighborhood in London. If you don’t see what I mean, instead of “beneath,” try inserting “in love with,” and maybe you’ll get the idea.