“And in your bed tonight, when it’s late and dark, and the rest of the house is quiet, except for my wife’s moans down the hall, and you’re pissed and angry because you think you hate me, but you slip a hand under the covers anyway, because no one will be the wiser if you indulge yourself in the memory of me, I just want you to also know”—I lowered my voice to a whisper—“that’s what red feels like. Anger
