  I've called collect once or twice in my life. In Chicago, at the Greyhound station and inside the Hotel Essex; in Florida, at the airport and outside Disney World; and in Washington, at the Days Inn and beneath Union Station. I was lonely and didn't mind making someone else pay to talk to me, even if it was only a nominal fee. I was lonely and didn't mind making someone else pay to talk to me. Point being: I understand the demands people make of each other when they are lonely, or just alone.
It sucks to be apart from the action just as it sucks to see the action from just beyond the boundaries of the action, that's why kids shoot up schools or listen to The Cure: loneliness. It's also why people call collect or e-mail looking or some friendly conversation. So, I make this solemn vow to all of those newly distant from Madison: I will try to keep in touch, so long as you don't shoot up schools or call me collect. In the "You have not been paying attention" folder, file this: My car is dead no more than three days after officially becoming "my car".
In a gesture of queer sentimentality, or possibly sensing the opportunity to plumb the depths of my new social isolation, it died in the aforementioned TGIFriday's parking lot just before I could say goodbye to noraaaron. Fucking Camry with 200k+ miles, so unreliable. Anyway, that's all the goodbyes I've got in me. Gone: Mark called Cheater ThElizabeth Karl's in charge MCRobot noraaaron “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. Matthew, 5:4 
