You start to get wary of people in the throes of arty-farty bullshit in my line of work; when they start waxing lyrical about, say, the “eternity between the falling dewdrop and the earth” you should squint, twiddle your eyebrows if you’re capable, brandish your cruxifix or perform any other outrageous, melodramatized gesture of abhorrence.
I recently met up with a friend from Singapore — ye gods, sometimes I miss that place so much it’s a palpable pain in my chest — and we talked and talked and talked for two straight hours. I wish I had more time, and I wish he did, but he wasn’t there for just idle chit-chat. We exchanged goings-on in our lives with each other, but in a very butch and touching way, if you know what I mean.
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