13.06.07 - 9:32 p.m.

being found, in person, sitting in a bar booth with an old friend or on the internet or anywhere else, i guess, is an uncomfortable experience. the distinct difference between running-into and being confronted. a stand off of sorts: who will make the first courteous gesture if one's to be made or will it turn into a public, secret game of chicken? i'll show you, i'll stand right here and order my drink. i might even spill it on your shoe just to say sorry like i would to a stranger. over-emphatic, kind of hollow like the voice we all use at work.

after you found me, i read your short stories. you were always a good technical writer, but nothing rang true. i wrote as much in an anonymous critique, workshopping in class circa 2000. the room was full of sissies you'd previously argued into oblivion about gravity's rainbow or the true meaning of "taking the road less travelled." you grew taller when you argued, puffed up and excited, leaning forward, always smiling as you routed them. so they were understandably hesitant to be truthful when it came time to say that your characters were just as empty and boring as you were. we shuffled the papers and passed the stack around. i almost felt sorry for the girl who got mine, who had to deliver the news. she kept pausing to laugh.

you sat back and took it. we stopped talking shortly thereafter.