Hannah gets handsy

Why do people do what they do? Maybe that pseudo-existentialist question was at the core of Danny's voyeurism. But he never had a shortage of test subjects to try to figure it out. Most of the time, he'd keep his distance and remain strictly observational, but sometimes, he'd just roll with it.

Hannah was a 24-year-old poet he met at a bar. Yes, a poet. He thought he was going to La Dolce Vita to hear live jazz, and instead, the schedule was mixed up and he was stuck with a poetry slam. He'd already been at the bar for a drink or two, chatting up the bartender, so despite being disappointed about the change in entertainment, he stayed.

It was an open mike night for poets, but only one showed up -- Hannah. She read a selection from her latest collection, which was entitled "I Touch Myself," and it was exactly what you might imagine from a collection entitled "I Touch Myself." Her chosen excerpt was an ode to her vibrator. Danny chuckled to himself at the bar, and was somewhat grateful (though derisively so) that he had stayed. With no other poets to present, Hannah wound up reading most of her book aloud to the small crowd that had gathered. By the end, only a handful of people remained, all of whom worked hard to get Hannah's number -- though none succeeded.

She was a confident woman. She knew that what she wrote was erotic and niche and would be mocked by some and adored by others. She didn't care. She also lived by herself in a big apartment in Brooklyn, which meant she had money. She didn't talk about where it came from, but she knew that it wouldn't matter what her poetry sounded like, she was all set.