I slipped a scrap of paper into Rita's palm and made my 
way out, quick on the getaway. I went as she fussed with 
her lip balm. She called me up when two days had passed 
and explained just who she was. A wave of guilt hit my 
pulse and the reason, it was because I didn't mean to 
step on your toes. I didn't know she was once with you. 
It must have seemed phony, my scripted, calculated pose, 
like some horribly articulate dancer accepting a Tony. 
I'd written it out, just three lines, only meant to 
flatter. It was something canned, something about her 
eyes. I hope you'll say it doesn't matter, 'cause I 
didn't mean to step on your toes. I didn't know she was 
once with you. It must have seemed phony, my scripted, 
calculated pose. I didn't know who I was talking to; I 
was just lonely. What to do when I find out my friend has 
just shrunk down to one from two yet I was blind to the 
other number? Yes, I know I stepped in, heaving over a 
note as if something just might begin, though that was 
not what I intended. I endeavored to say that the way 
that she looked was near perfect that lonely day, but all 
I wanted was just to tell her so. I didn't mean to step 
on your toes. I didn't know she was once with you. It 
must have seemed phony, my scripted, calculated pose. 
Dear friend, I want to hand back to you this feeling you 
loaned me; this verbal return, more direct than a note, i 
hope will atone me.