What would you say when she calls?

-It depend on which "she" you're talking about?
-Fuck! I don't know you have more than one. My goodness, you're a player, Roberto.
-(A chuckle, a smirk, and then unexpectedly a sad, even suicidal look came over his face) What do you expect? Look at this face, this physique. Delve further into the wit, the erudition, the heart, the feelings for things that are sweet and true and eternal. No wonder women flock to me like bees to honey, like flies to shit, like overeaters to free buffet.
-Seriously, though, what do you say to her when she calls because I know she will call?
-Silvio, I don't give a fuck about her anymore. I don't. I mean it. She pissed me off so bad that I am walking away from her, figuratively and literally. She was stupid, very stupid. And I cannot stand stupid people. I am very sensitive, as you already know. I am now almost back to where I used to be. Only concerned about money and health and creativity and knowledge. Love and pussies now bore me for the stupid games involved. In the end, I have only me to rely on. That's why I always feel lonely. I cannot trust anybody. All selfishness. All talk. Glad you called. I've got to go make some money. I have to hustle. See you later.

So, Roberto got into his Ferrari and headed to his favorite haunt, despite sad memories there. He told himself that he was stronger than the memories, than whatever that made him sad and blue, that in the end he would triumph.