I have two people on my mailing list. I wonder if either of them wants to leave the list but stays out of guilt. Kind of like if you arrive at a party, and you’re the only one that shows up, so you are the party.
It’s just you and Melvin, the childhood classmate you bumped into at the Courthouse Metro station yesterday. In math class, Melvin would hide his head in his notebook and eat his boogers when he thought no one was looking. Melvin sat in the front of the class and could only process three directions at once, so every day his classmates’ shrieks to the teacher startled him and, depending on where his finger was at the time, caused a nose bleed.
But Melvin had his shirt tucked in, a job, and a warm smile. It was only after he hugged you for saying you’d come to his party that you noticed the dandruff was still there.
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