we sit literally over our own orders of eggs and coffee discussing character disorders like poetry and philandering and whether cancer is always a bad thing --
you wolfing through all that gravy and me feeling too queasy to take in that greasy remedy;
hung over? allegedly. you quit drinking a dozen years ago, while i lit the old school town on fire the night before. you've forgotten more than I've yet learned about writing, which makes me want to keep trying.