Goodbye, Dear Friend
Drunken and lacking in attention span, the norm for a drunken weekend evening, I wandered through the local bar TryAngles. It was a relatively nice night in the summer of 2009 when something peculiar occurred: a note was handed to me by a guy with striking features. Searing sharp eyes, an innocent and shy smile, and impossible eyebrows. His name and number scribbled on the note, one of the only times I’ve ever received a number from a guy at the bar on a note. It felt a bit like being in high school, sparked with that twinge of excitement. Just as quickly as he had handed it to me, he disappeared into his group of friends. This is how I met Jason McCarley. One of my truly devastating problems is my lack of memory. I remember things which occur, but rarely in which order. I have a horrible sense of time, and this recollection is therefore segmented into bits and pieces instead of a linear timeline. The more I think, the more things become clearer, but since I generally suspect my m...