An acquaintance scribbles the time and address of a party onto the last page of my notebook. “Bring a bunch of people with you,” she tells me, “Most of my friends are guys, so I’m worried that the mix will be a little out of balance. If any of your friends are girls, bring them.” Underneath the address, she writes, “Bring alcohol/girls!”, which sounds like it was written in a different spirit than I think she intended.
I finish reading a book and get up out of my chair. A little slip of paper with the words “Inspected by 42” printed on it falls out of my lap, and I can’t really figure out what it’s from.
A cartoonist who I recognize is shuffling past. His attention is completely consumed by the new issue of the Stranger. He’s flipping furiously through the pages, trying to find his illustration.