This is less important. Read the last one.

Now that that necessary piece is done, something that is more my style:

I give to you... The Reference Point.

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"What do you think you're doing with your life?" Michelle screamed, quickly zippering up those tight jeans that, when combined with her astounding body, could really drive you crazy. "All you do is get up and go to work every day! Not even that, but you don't seem to be going anywhere! You'd rather get an overtime shift than spend time with me! Where do your priorities lie!?"

"Oh Jesus..." Thought the man, half-covered with a ruffled blanket, fresh with sweat from the night's festivities. "Here it comes, we must have been over this fifty times by now..."

Getting up and chasing Michelle to the door of their apartment, the man spoke, his head throbbing from the inhuman amount of alcohol that he had consumed merely hours ago. "Come on now Michelle, what are you saying all this for?" He kicked aside the clothes that they had left on the floor in their eager lust for one another, not stopping to separate them for her weekly threat of moving out. "I know it's not an anatomical change because I have-"

"F*ck you!" She screamed, cutting him off before his sarcastic remark could escape from his mouth. "You never take me seriously! You always try to blame it on my period, or on some seemingly traumatic event or whatever, but you never stop to consider my feelings!"

"Michelle, I take you seriously. I need to take you seriously, I love you. And the reason that I take all the overtime hours that I can get is so that we can get a nicer apartment on the east side, or maybe even a house upstate!"

"I don't want that!" Michelle shouted, her voice dropping off at the end as tears formed in her eyes. "Do you remember the days when we used to go up on the rooftop and just watch the stars together? Those days when we could just take up a couple of lawn chairs, light up, and talk for hours, and we'd both be really listening, do you remember those?"

"Baby, I'm trying. I'm trying to get us our own rooftop, I want to get out of here! We've been living here for ten months now; and we started off of a one month schedule. Every morning I look at what's happened to us and I feel like going to our window and falling fifteen stories until my body hits the pavement, but I don't because it happened to us, not to me. We're here together, we'll always be together."

"So wh-why do you want the money? Why isn't it en-enough to just be tog-together?" Michelle cried out, interrupted by frequent sobs, her eyes darting around the apartment as if looking for some distant noise.

"Because I don't want us to be brought together by sadness, I want us to be brought together by love and by happiness. Don't you want to have kids someday Michelle? Don't you want to open that restaurant that you're always talking about? Well I have dreams too, and once we get some more money, we'll be able to do everything that we've ever wanted!" Then, as if on cue, Michelle jumped into his arms and stopped crying.

There was a knock at the door, one that intruded into his dream. Stirring slowly and moving towards the knocks, which were becoming more and more rapid, the man threw on whatever clothes were conveniently stacked on the floor and answered the door. He was met by Michelle, who jumped into his arms and gave him that all-too-familiar feeling.

"I'm getting lucky tonight." He thought with a grin, before moving into the living room and pouring them each a glass of liquor.