“I’d been working on Holly all night long.” Phelps said. “Just as we’re about to head back to my place, Sebastian saunters over and drops some kind of heroic couplet on her. That was it for me.”
Sebastian, no last name, is a friend of Phelps’s roommate and was in town for the weekend, staying at the Hilton in a room with a 'hot tub, candles and everything.'One idiot’s eyewitness account described Roe “literally” melting into Sebastian’s arms.
“This was no ‘roses are red’ bullshit.” Another patron offered. “He was a regular Billy Collins, this guy—with hair!”
“I can’t understand it.” Phelps said to Roe in the parking lot that evening as she and Sebastian waited in line for a cab. “Poetry is for pussies.”
“No, James.” Sebastian begged to differ before slipping into the backseat of a cab with Roe. “Poetry is for pussy. Singular.”
