MAKE NEW FRIENDS BUT KEEP THE OLD, ONE IS SILVER AND THE OTHER'S HISTORY

This morning I ran into my Poet Friend inside a neighborhood art fair booth. It turns out he is a friend of a friend of a cat of a friend of a roommate of a lover. No foxing. What a crazy small world. He was holding a cup of designer coffee and his face was overgrown with dark, wiry fur. I think it is safe to say that we have fallen out of friendship, which is sad because he was one of my oldest friends. I had known him since I was thirteen. And it’s not like we were bosom buddies or anything. We never did each other’s hair or swapped clothes. But shit, keeping track of someone for fourteen years takes work. So it was a little sad when neither he nor I exclaimed, “It’s been too long!” or, “Let’s get together soon!” No, we just coolly nodded and said, “Yea well, see y’around.”