Clean shaven with short hair, he looked young and straight. Attempts at small talk received only grunts, or silence with narrowing stares. He felt like a cop in a crack house. Making his way to the back of the room, he saw a familiar face. “I know you,” said a young-looking woman with a broad smile. “What are you doing here?” she asked. He walked by. He didn’t answer. He didn’t know.
March 31, 2007