The first time I met Adam was at my job interview. I probably would not have given him a second glance had I passed him on the sidewalk. He was tall but average in appearance. The thing I noticed most was that he was young, in his late twenties. I had twenty years on him.

    I was used to having bosses who were younger than myself. This had never been a problem. Young bosses were fun to work for, I had found, and fair-minded.

    Adam hired me on the spot. I was well qualified. It takes time to settle into a new job, though, and I was getting to know Adam and what he was like to work for. I don't think I had been in my new position for a week when I discovered his beautiful singing voice.

    He would burst into song at the slightest provocation. The singing would be accompanied by a gentle gyration of his hips. I began to look forward to the warmth of his hand on my shoulder as he leaned over me to check my work. It soon got to the point where I was looking forward to work just to be in Adam's presence. The weekends seemed long.

    The feeling crept up on me with all due stealth. I wanted more than anything to be in Adam's presence, and I was beginning to sense that my feelings were reciprocated. I had a friend who married a man half her age and a nephew who married a woman twice his age. Both marriages were successful.

    But I was not looking to marry. This was purely about sex appeal, and it was getting out of control. Soon the air in the office was thick with pheromones. They were dripping down the walls and making the floor slippery. Our co-workers were beginning to complain.

    Our attraction bloomed into a full-fledged affair. And then, before I knew what hit me, Adam was gone, transferred to the City by the Bay. A whole continent separated me from my lover. The farewell party the office gave him was the last time I saw Adam. When I came to work the next day the new boss was sitting at Adam's desk.

    Stange how empty a place can seem when the person who gave it life is gone. I felt like a stranger in my own hometown haunts, the places Adam and I had shared. My job was just a job, now. Eventually, the madness receded.

     For a long time after Adam's departure, though, whenever twilight settled over the landscape, I would gaze westward to the golden hues of the western sky and think of him. It was still daylight in San Francisco, I knew, but darkness was rapidly descending like gloom over the place where I felt I had been left behind.

    Strange, I would think as night enveloped me, how heavy is the weight of emptiness.