My friend Swamp Rabbit took a look my Valentine’s Day playlist — almost the same list I used a few years ago — and began naming all the songs I should have included: “Little Walter’s ‘Just Your Fool,’ the Kinks’ ‘Who’ll Be the Next in Line,’ Bonnie Raitt’s ‘You’ve Been in Love Too Long.’ Otis Redding’s ‘Pain in My Heart,’ Dionne Warwick’s ‘I’ll Never Fall in Love Again,’ the Temptation’s –“

“Wait a minute,” I said. Those aren’t love songs, they’re regret songs. Jump off a bridge songs. I’ve learned that nobody wants to hear about love gone wrong on Valentine’s Day. Don’t be so cynical.”

“I ain’t cynical, I’m realistic. You got your flowers, you got your weeds. You got your love songs, you got your regret songs.”

I scowled at him and stepped away. “The one doesn’t necessarily lead to the other. Your problem is you don’t really believe in love.”

He went quiet for a moment. “I believe there’s such a thing as love. There’s such a thing as narcotics, too. That don’t mean I have to get strung out on ’em.”

“If you say so,” I said. “But Happy Valentine’s Day anyway.”