Luckily, by the last third of the book, Watters realizes this. And luckily, he's a charming and self-effacing writer, never taking himself or his thesis entirely seriously. As a result we get amusing anecdotes about love and sex among urban young professionals. He attends a convention of psychologists to try to find out why so many of his circle have put off marriage, only to discover that science (if you can call psychology a science) hasn't the answer. He examines himself and his friends' lives closely and still can't find the answer. By the end, however, the answer comes to him, quite unexpectedly, when he isn't looking for it. Friendship may be one poet's "cement of the soul, sweetener of life, and solder of society," but it's another's "Love without his wings." Watters' urban tribe receded in importance once he met his best friend for life. Tellingly, the book is dedicated not to his circle of close friends, but to his new bride. Watters found his pair of wings.