“Love? Love?! Is that all that’s left?”
“Afraid so. There are worse things, you know.”
“No one will take me seriously if that’s what I’m known for.”
“Oh, come on! That’s ridiculous. Love is a many splendored thing. Love makes the world go round. All you need is love.”
“What the hell does any of that mean?”
“What? People say that. I’ve heard people say that.”
“Makes the world go round? That’s preposterous. It’s utterly impossible. Go round. Go round what?”
“Whatever. Look, love is what it’s all about.”
“You and I both know that love is nothing more than… than… than a battlefield.”
“Oooh, that’s a good one.”
“I can’t be known for love. What about the blind or the infirmed or the homeless?”
“I told you - those are all taken. You want to be a saint, you gotta be the saint of love.”
“Pish! St. Valentine, the patron saint of love? Nobody will hear the name Valentine and think love. For generations, the name Valentine has struck fear in the hearts of men. It’s stared down demons and defeated the most steadfast armies.”
“Dude, two days before you ended up here, the whole town saw you twirling around on your roof in your underwear.”
“I was drunk! Why do you think I fell off my roof and wound up in this position?!”
“And for that I would have gladly anointed you the patron saint of beer, but even that has been taken.”
“I can’t believe this has happened to me. You know, my brother Cupid spends every weekend spinning around on the roof in his underwear and he’s never fallen off once. Three weeks ago he filled up his quiver with a bunch of arrows and drug it up there with him. Somehow he got one stuck in his ass. Didn’t fall off, though. The first time I trot up there to show him how stupid he looks and I end up talking to you. That’s what I called him growing up – Cupid the Stupid. Serves me right, I guess.”
“If it’s any consolation, I have a feeling his eternal fate won’t be much different than yours. Look, for thousands of years to come, lovers will celebrate you on the anniversary of your death. They’ll give their hearts over to each other, commemorating their feelings all in the name of St. Valentine.”
“You think so?”
“Of course!”
“What about the lonely? The lovelorn? Those who have loved and lost, never to love again? Won’t they be miserable every year on this day?”
“Don’t worry, they have a patron saint of their own.”
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