This is a town full of lovers, each distilling an aspect of you. There is a passionate lover, a languid lover, an impatient lover. There is one distanced, one thorough, one tender; a rhythmic lover, this one joyful, this one moaning. This lover reminds me of you. This one is entranced, straddling, contented. This lover is mechanical in action, this one intoxicated, this one rasping; a lover who teases, one who is angelic, one engulfing; one political, one didactic, one well-organised; here is a lover who is reckless, who is self-important, who is selective, experimental, warm, tense, haphazard and public.
As the town empties, its residents take their skills and habits, their attitudes and attributes elsewhere. The residents of Mary Kathleen fill the country with lovers.