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Old friends

I love being an extra in others' lives. Maybe one day they wonder what ever became of Elinor, how we fell out of touch, what chugged them to the West Coast & me to New York. Maybe they remember one funny thing I said & not even me who said it. It's fine to be close & then not close, even fine to make a big mistake & have things end in a huff.

There's onward & there's yonder, & here we are smack dab in the blender.

There's a texture that old friends add to life, folks I maybe haven't seen in ages, people I might have worked with at one time or had some fun with. They might not be the ones I bare my soul to or turn to in the best or worst of times, but my life would be flat without them, like a shiny new apartment with no Ukrainian newspapers to find when you tear up the linoleum.

Update: And when I went home yesterday, there was a postcard from mi primo Markos, from Mexico City: "Our trip [there] remains one of my greatest memories."
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