Summer of ’82

Good for Dean for getting a girlfriend before me.
     Really.
     I’m happy for him, or at least I used to be, before he started bringing her along to everything, before they got in the habit of kissing in front of me whenever the conversation starts to flag, in the line-up for a movie, on the subway platform going home, slowly nibbling away with nothing for me to do but just stand there and wait for the train to come.
     Sometimes he’ll invite another friend along—who knows why—and we can at least amuse each other with our colour commentary.