For lack of better ideas, I fictionalized my day:
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He waved hello so she did too but this wasn't her real greeting but rather a mechanistic response, a biding of time to stride the gap between them, whenceforth she could lay on her lip-tearing smile upon him and smother him in a great bear hug amidst a squeal of excited Jeremy!s. This admittedly did better justice to the reunion, Remy had to concede, and to the strength of their bond and the many days suffered apart.
Oh my god it's been forever, she said, extending the final r of forever to give emphasis to the word in a way that let it take on the quality of its definition. Well how are you? You look good! You look the same. I missed you!" In rapid succession.
He caught up to her questions. Good. Thanks. I missed you too, cupcake." He gently eased into a squirming and shifting and prying of himself from her grip. "Okay okay easy with the squeezy pleasy. I think there might be a rule against sex in the city streets. When in Rome, if you will. Anyway, for now shall we off said street and on to the boozing or something like that because I'm thirsting here quite hard like...something that thirsts thirstily. I've lost my wits I'm so parched.
You haven't changed at all. She beamed. This was happy mood.
A deserted desert thirster thirsting thirstily on Thursday. Well, hasn't really been that long. How much does a person change in six months?
Eight. Well come on then.
They walked and said things like how it had been so long, or, she: what had he been up to, he: what her, someone: how nice, and: oh she had dyed it the day before thanks she liked it too, well was he working, well what did he do then if not, oh had he written anything good, enough about him what about her was she enjoying her job at what was it Accenture, yes very good he remembered but no it was actually quite boring, but it paid the bills. Oh there was this guy who she was sure he'd like, guy named Ken, a really cool guy, he would like him, he would be there.
He was. Among others. When they arrived at Irish Place she introduced Jeremy to her new friends and co-workers. Arizona State blondie, cute, he noted, Mary's roommate. Bill Sanderswho Remy actually had known at Duke and had gotten along relatively well withworked in the same office as Mary. Bill's roommate, a black fellow who had also gone to Duke but who Jeremy had never met during their overlapping years, now starting his first year in the FBI, pretty cool, Remy thought, and had said as much: "Hey, that's pretty cool, should I have left the smuggled drugs in the car?" Chinese bloke, Chen something something, Stanford. Chen something something's girlfriend, Kate, or Catie, or Kat or KathyStanford. And the Ken person whom he had heard so much about in the steps leading to the pub, also a co-worker of Mary's, who went to a school in Boston--Ken chuckled as he said this, no he was just kidding, he went to Harvard. Oh, Remy understood; he saw what he did there, and he said, "Oh, I see what you did there. Ha. Ha.". Identifiers: Blondie, Chen-Stan, Kate-Stan, FBI, Ken Harvard.
Mary introduced Remy as a really good friend from the Duke days. Hellos all around, grim head-nods, friendly handshakes and smiles, some shuffling about and scootching, making space, not really necessary and no extra space being made--his seat at the far end of the bench was ample--but the busy motions gave the impression that Remy's presence had been acknowledged, welcomed, as if to say, oh, look, you're here, let us trouble ourselves and glance around and make sure everything is in order, while the newcomer must play his part and say oh no, no need to trouble yourselves, everything is in order, I'll just sit here. They settled down.
A pretty gal, a vivacious vixen dimpled and freckled and redheaded came by to take orders. Mary wanted to know whether Bill wanted to split the deluxe burger menu with her as she couldn't finish it but was feeling a burger would he please share it with her and he said sure. For the rest mostly appetizers and beer, including three pints for Remy who wanted to take advantage of happy hour's final minutes; reminded, Bill ordered another pint for himself--no actually--one more again for good measure; FBI guy followed suit. For the Stanford duo, a fancy mixed drink of some sort, some party peach queer naked on the beach or something, probably fruity and colorful and tasty and tropical, Remy figured. A girly drink, anyway. Redhead (a more cheerful Amy Adams) asked may she see some ID, and the party rummaged and dug and each eventually procured their respective versions, some variant of card-form identification, all except for Remy who handed over his passport.
What's the deal with the passport? Bill asked.
Remy explained how he had lost his ID.
Oh, that sucks.
Uh huh.
Freckles, chipper, said she'd be back with their drinks shortly. Cute butt too, Remy couldn't help but notice. He deliberated on whether to verbalize the sentiment, but erred on the side of caution, still as yet unsure this party's tendency, their opinions of him yet early, fragile; more opportune and socially lubricated moments lurked only around the corner where he could unearth the playfully cocky, not-quite-pc narcissist version of himself with less risk. It was his go-to character, but the execution was tricky, and he did not feel up to it in a way that would not be improved with a few beers. He opted instead for: She's got a nice spunk to her, don't you think? I like her energy. Safer.
Quoth the fingers the word spunk. Again: energy. They were Bill's fingers, and Bill's words, and they were insinuating.
Okay, so he had been called out. Be cool: a nonchalant shrug. Well, the pretty face obviously doesn't hurt her case. I'm not going to lie through my teeth and say it's not a contributing factor.
Oh I meant more like how you were checking out her ass all sly-like.
If by sly we mean completely losing all self-control with those ogling eyes and all but publicly playing with his wiener, said Ken.
Jeremy: double-take. Had not Mary assured him earlier of something? Something about liking a fellow? Oh he was sure to like him she had enthused. Really cool guy she said. This very chap she had been referring. Of the various personages that were to be present, she had singled out this one fellow as the one he was bound to get along with, this very Ken. What was she smoking? A joke in poor taste, or a deliberate breach of bro code. Last he checked banter was reserved for bros who had over time reached some comfort level, which these two clearly had not. Two dude strangers acquainted through a mutual female friend were to present a unified front of jocular camaraderie through playful teasing of the mutual friend, not each otherthat was the correct play. This was something else, this was, hmfoul play.
Crucify a guy for saying something nice about a gal...okay, and checking out her ass a bit. So I'm a heterosexual male, sue me? Drop it already.
Ken met his eyes with a not-unfriendly pair of his own. Levi's.
Hm?
God conceived that ass to sell jeans. My eyes to look. I was staring so hard I might have burrowed her an extra asshole.
It appeared Ken was back on the playbook. Here here. I'll drink to that, Jeremy said. Big tip her way, in any case. Where is she I miss her already.
------------------------------------------------------------
He waved hello so she did too but this wasn't her real greeting but rather a mechanistic response, a biding of time to stride the gap between them, whenceforth she could lay on her lip-tearing smile upon him and smother him in a great bear hug amidst a squeal of excited Jeremy!s. This admittedly did better justice to the reunion, Remy had to concede, and to the strength of their bond and the many days suffered apart.
Oh my god it's been forever, she said, extending the final r of forever to give emphasis to the word in a way that let it take on the quality of its definition. Well how are you? You look good! You look the same. I missed you!" In rapid succession.
He caught up to her questions. Good. Thanks. I missed you too, cupcake." He gently eased into a squirming and shifting and prying of himself from her grip. "Okay okay easy with the squeezy pleasy. I think there might be a rule against sex in the city streets. When in Rome, if you will. Anyway, for now shall we off said street and on to the boozing or something like that because I'm thirsting here quite hard like...something that thirsts thirstily. I've lost my wits I'm so parched.
You haven't changed at all. She beamed. This was happy mood.
A deserted desert thirster thirsting thirstily on Thursday. Well, hasn't really been that long. How much does a person change in six months?
Eight. Well come on then.
They walked and said things like how it had been so long, or, she: what had he been up to, he: what her, someone: how nice, and: oh she had dyed it the day before thanks she liked it too, well was he working, well what did he do then if not, oh had he written anything good, enough about him what about her was she enjoying her job at what was it Accenture, yes very good he remembered but no it was actually quite boring, but it paid the bills. Oh there was this guy who she was sure he'd like, guy named Ken, a really cool guy, he would like him, he would be there.
He was. Among others. When they arrived at Irish Place she introduced Jeremy to her new friends and co-workers. Arizona State blondie, cute, he noted, Mary's roommate. Bill Sanderswho Remy actually had known at Duke and had gotten along relatively well withworked in the same office as Mary. Bill's roommate, a black fellow who had also gone to Duke but who Jeremy had never met during their overlapping years, now starting his first year in the FBI, pretty cool, Remy thought, and had said as much: "Hey, that's pretty cool, should I have left the smuggled drugs in the car?" Chinese bloke, Chen something something, Stanford. Chen something something's girlfriend, Kate, or Catie, or Kat or KathyStanford. And the Ken person whom he had heard so much about in the steps leading to the pub, also a co-worker of Mary's, who went to a school in Boston--Ken chuckled as he said this, no he was just kidding, he went to Harvard. Oh, Remy understood; he saw what he did there, and he said, "Oh, I see what you did there. Ha. Ha.". Identifiers: Blondie, Chen-Stan, Kate-Stan, FBI, Ken Harvard.
Mary introduced Remy as a really good friend from the Duke days. Hellos all around, grim head-nods, friendly handshakes and smiles, some shuffling about and scootching, making space, not really necessary and no extra space being made--his seat at the far end of the bench was ample--but the busy motions gave the impression that Remy's presence had been acknowledged, welcomed, as if to say, oh, look, you're here, let us trouble ourselves and glance around and make sure everything is in order, while the newcomer must play his part and say oh no, no need to trouble yourselves, everything is in order, I'll just sit here. They settled down.
A pretty gal, a vivacious vixen dimpled and freckled and redheaded came by to take orders. Mary wanted to know whether Bill wanted to split the deluxe burger menu with her as she couldn't finish it but was feeling a burger would he please share it with her and he said sure. For the rest mostly appetizers and beer, including three pints for Remy who wanted to take advantage of happy hour's final minutes; reminded, Bill ordered another pint for himself--no actually--one more again for good measure; FBI guy followed suit. For the Stanford duo, a fancy mixed drink of some sort, some party peach queer naked on the beach or something, probably fruity and colorful and tasty and tropical, Remy figured. A girly drink, anyway. Redhead (a more cheerful Amy Adams) asked may she see some ID, and the party rummaged and dug and each eventually procured their respective versions, some variant of card-form identification, all except for Remy who handed over his passport.
What's the deal with the passport? Bill asked.
Remy explained how he had lost his ID.
Oh, that sucks.
Uh huh.
Freckles, chipper, said she'd be back with their drinks shortly. Cute butt too, Remy couldn't help but notice. He deliberated on whether to verbalize the sentiment, but erred on the side of caution, still as yet unsure this party's tendency, their opinions of him yet early, fragile; more opportune and socially lubricated moments lurked only around the corner where he could unearth the playfully cocky, not-quite-pc narcissist version of himself with less risk. It was his go-to character, but the execution was tricky, and he did not feel up to it in a way that would not be improved with a few beers. He opted instead for: She's got a nice spunk to her, don't you think? I like her energy. Safer.
Quoth the fingers the word spunk. Again: energy. They were Bill's fingers, and Bill's words, and they were insinuating.
Okay, so he had been called out. Be cool: a nonchalant shrug. Well, the pretty face obviously doesn't hurt her case. I'm not going to lie through my teeth and say it's not a contributing factor.
Oh I meant more like how you were checking out her ass all sly-like.
If by sly we mean completely losing all self-control with those ogling eyes and all but publicly playing with his wiener, said Ken.
Jeremy: double-take. Had not Mary assured him earlier of something? Something about liking a fellow? Oh he was sure to like him she had enthused. Really cool guy she said. This very chap she had been referring. Of the various personages that were to be present, she had singled out this one fellow as the one he was bound to get along with, this very Ken. What was she smoking? A joke in poor taste, or a deliberate breach of bro code. Last he checked banter was reserved for bros who had over time reached some comfort level, which these two clearly had not. Two dude strangers acquainted through a mutual female friend were to present a unified front of jocular camaraderie through playful teasing of the mutual friend, not each otherthat was the correct play. This was something else, this was, hmfoul play.
Crucify a guy for saying something nice about a gal...okay, and checking out her ass a bit. So I'm a heterosexual male, sue me? Drop it already.
Ken met his eyes with a not-unfriendly pair of his own. Levi's.
Hm?
God conceived that ass to sell jeans. My eyes to look. I was staring so hard I might have burrowed her an extra asshole.
It appeared Ken was back on the playbook. Here here. I'll drink to that, Jeremy said. Big tip her way, in any case. Where is she I miss her already.
Priceless.