Today I was walking across the street at school towards the bus stop. A very disheveled man sat on the bench in front of me, most likely a vagrant, so my narrow-mind whispered sit somewhere else. So I did.
After I sat down and surveyed the man a little more I suddenly realized it was my fiction professor from last year. I remember now that he was always pretty absentminded and dusty looking. His fuzzy grey curls, thin-rimmed glasses that magically darken in sunlight, stuttery mannerisms, and soft tan clogs that he doesn't put on all the way but instead walks around crushing the heels under his socked feet.
He was talking on his phone, about semi-colons haha. When he hung up I walked over and sat down next to him prompting him to declare "I've been meaning to call you!" I emailed him last Sept about writing and we've been playing this oh-hey game ever since.
Through the course of the conversation somehow I gave him my # (he never had in the first place like he'd assumed) and we're going to go "get drinks" at some point next week to talk about writing. Does he mean alcohol or coffee? Day or night?
I also found out that he'd been laid off, rehired, and reminds me utterly of Larry David.
I also found out that he went to Grad School with Michael Chabon and they were "oh yeah good friends but then..oh wait here's my bus. Is this your bus? Oh okay well then we'll have something to talk about when we grab drinks..."
Michael. fucking. Chabon. I get to hear first hand accounts, intimate stories, of Michael Chabon pre-pulitzer prize. Fuck. Yeah. Contain your jealousy..