hot times in the city

Waiting in afternoon sunshine at the gates of Trinity College for Juliette. A half hour goes by.
She's definitely standing me up. Give her another five minutes.
To pass the time I text Wardles with my tale of woe on the mobile phone. Wardles is an old friend who lives in the quaint unspoilt traditional Irish conurbation of Sallins.
"Korean girl is standing me up," I write dolefully.
Wardles texts back with undue immediacy.
"You're losing your touch."
This reply stings somewhat. But I won't let her away with it. Losing my touch, indeed.
"The problem dear Wardles," I text, "is that Korean girl has not been touched by me at all. Had she experienced some good Heelers lovin' she would never have been able to let go, and would not at this moment be missing out on the chance of a lifetime."
Again with indecent haste Wardles' reply beeps onto my phone.
"You're losing your marbles," it says.
I think perhaps I am.