I was rehearsing for my gig at Slim's in the St. Johns district of Portland, Oregon and I broke a nail. Yes, I have guitar nails on my right hand. Yes, I was actually rehearsing. So, I went to my local nail shop where they know me by name because I am the only guy that ever comes in there, to get Molly to fix me up with new nails. Molly is a really cute 40-something divorced Vietnamese woman who is always happy and full of energy, but I could tell that something was wrong. I mentioned that I hadn't seen her since before Christmas and asked her about her kids and her holiday. "Oh... everything go okay," she said. "I have my dog. I have my children and we had a good time together. But now it is Valentine's holiday." Then out of nowhere Molly said, "I was married for 23 years, but my husband never give me flowers. 23 years and he never told me that he loved me," and a sob caught in her throat. She pushed back a tear, but didn't apologize for revealing her private thoughts. I tried to lighten the mood and with a little smile I told her that she had to be careful what she said in front of a songwriter because it could wind up in a song. She managed a weak smile and said "that's okay. It can be Molly's Valentine's Day Song."