March 27, 2008.
we sat in the small room, 8 people crowded around a small table. it reminded me of the television advertisement where the man sits in the office and watches everyone talking around him and feels detached. or maybe it's just me, projecting my feelings onto a fictional father created to sell postage.
it is at that moment i yawn, and look across the room and smile at the man. i must know this man, i think. there is something about him that draws me to him. i make a point of remembering his name. i never remember names. it is the comments he makes in passing that i remember, the clothes that he is wearing. his aura.
there is something about him...
later that night, i google him. he is a writer. somehow, i wonder if he knew.