I took up with a six-foot-one river guide named Slim, who drove a 1972 Ford truck and sang like Tammy Wynette. I told her I was too wounded for love. She said that was OK because she preferred to be single, and we drove across the creek to Susie’s Branding Iron to karaoke, where she sang “Your Good Girl’s Gonna Go Bad” and I sang “I’m Gonna Break Every Heart I Can.” Although, like me, she came from the California suburbs, Slim equally embraced the scuffed boots and sheepskin coats. Our romance could find no more glorious set than a rickety trailer.