HE GAVE HIS MISTRESS MY PADDLE. HE FORGOT THE AUCTION HOUSE BELONGED TO ME

I even touched his hand.

The performance disgusted me, but disgust was useful. It kept me from confusing memories with reality.

The man across from me was not the twenty-nine-year-old entrepreneur who once waited outside my graduate seminar in the rain because he had forgotten his umbrella and wanted an excuse to walk me home.

He was not the man who had continue reading …