It wasn’t the town she hated, Caroline thought as she dug for her mailbox key, it was the people. The masses of tourists who descended like locusts every year for the house tours and art festivals and wildlife expos in America’s politest city. “Politest city, my ass,” she muttered, balancing a decaf mocha in one hand while grabbing the mail with the other. Once upon a time there was a beautiful thing called tourist season, with a beginning and an end, and a bumper sticker reading “If it’s called tourist season, why can’t we shoot them?” But those days were gone. Now tourons were here all year long, taking all the parking spaces, walking in the middle of the street, wearing socks with sandals. Of course, Caroline paused her trek up to the third floor, mail in hand, to be fair, I wouldn’t have a job with out the hordes from Ohio and Germany. No need for carriage or walking tours with no tourists. But still, how many times can someone ask me how far it is to walk to Fort Sumter without going postal. It’s an island, people, an island! After stopping for a last quiet moment to look out at the street from the third floor piazza, she sighed and pushed open the apartment door.
    “Good lord, Amy, does the music have to so loud?" Caroline shouted, as she threw the mail on the coffee table. “Crap,” she said more softly. The music blaring on the living room CD player, the work shirt and bra thrown on the arm of the couch, the empty beer bottles…her roommate was home, and had brought someone else.
    Amy’s voice came from the back bedroom, “Hey Caroline,” she yelled laughing, “and yes, it goes to 11!” Mad giggling. Caroline smiled in response, and then sighed as she walked in her room to change clothes. It had been how long since she had brought anyone back here? Brian. Brian was the last and that was before Xmas. Over 6 months ago. A long time to go without sex when living with Miss Sexed Up herself. Of course, Amy wouldn’t have let a dry spell last this long. Amy would’ve marched into the bar, curls flying, and picked the guy she wanted, or asked one of the guys at work over to “help her lift something.”
    But I’m not Amy, Caroline thought, looking in the full length mirror behind the closet door. I’m an entirely different kettle of fish. Or a kettle of something that’s not fish, or Mae West looking fish. If Mae West had red hair and a snub nose. Because Mae West was not cute, she was sexy and gorgeous. I’m cute, she thought with irritation. Cute.
    “Knock, knock,” Amy said as she walked in to lie on the bed. “What’s up with you? You look annoyed about something. Did Paul piss you off at work again?”
    “Why would Paul irritate me?” Caroline replied, shutting the closet door firmly. “Just because he acts like he does so much work in front of the owner and then sits on his ass the rest of the day? No, no, that’s totally fine. Whatever. Anyway, who’ve you lured home today?”
    “Remember the guy who started working for Quality Carriage Tours last week? The cute one with the dark hair?”
    “Oh, yeah, Gary or George or something, right? That’s who’s over?”
    Amy giggled. “Gary, and I figured I should snag him before any other carriage girls get their hands on him. Or Jimmy for that matter.”
    “Well, how was it? Tell me everything! I need to live through you.” Caroline exclaimed.
    “Not bad, Amy said, I’d give him an eight and a half. Definitely better than Brad, who was such a disappointment for such a muffin.”
    “Well, I’m about ready to sleep with Brad, I’m getting so desperate,” Caroline moaned.
    “Right! I believe that. The pickiest girl I know, sleeping with an incompetent rat like Brad.” Amy snorted. “The only reason you’re in a slump is that there’s no one in this town you want to date. And don’t give me that nonsense about sex for sex’s sake—if you wanted to just do it, you would’ve already. You want a relationship, a boyfriend, love.”
    “Whatever. I’ve had love and I’ve had one nighters. One nighters are less painful.”
    “Someday, you’ll have to get over him,” Amy said quietly, quickly adding, as she dodged a pillow, “but for now, we have to get ready! This is going to be the party of the year!”
    “You always say that,” Caroline said a bit sulkily, “but it’s always the same people and the same keg and the same drama. I want to go to a new party.”
    “Then you’ll have to move. You can’t expect to meet new people when you’ve lived in the same place for almost 30 years.” Amy said sensibly from the bathroom. “Even if it does seem like everybody and their brother is moving down here from Connecticut. Damn Yankees and their shiny, shiny money.”
    “Fine, Caroline grumbled to herself, “maybe I will move.”