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9:04pm 5.3.2012

Scene: a spooky loft just outside downtown Los Angeles, Lincoln Heights

“Can you just cuddle?” it said in an unidentified text message from an area code I didn’t recognize either.

“Who is this?” I texted back.


I milled it over in my head.  It’s been a strange week.

A strange month.

A strange.. everything.

But that’s what happens when you’re self evaluating.  And while my brain was sifting through the memories trying to make sense of everything, this made even less sense.  Who was this?  I was both flattered and… annoyed.

“The truth is I know who I want this to be but you’re probably not said person.”


I was honest but I wasn’t going to be that honest.  The unidentified stranger didn’t need to know who was on my mind.  Hell- as I typed it I felt guilty.  By all accounts, the person or persons I was referring to wasn’t anyone I probably should be wanting to text me asking for that.  I knew better.  Or I’d hoped I did.

An hour later I received a text with the answer.  It was Mr. Midnight– a “Hemmingway” of a punk rock lover from my past circa a couple of summers ago.  I didn’t respond.

“Is that bad?”

A pin dropped.  I didn’t know what to say to that.  It had been so long ago that it felt like another lifetime.

I posted to Facebook about it and referenced a few friends that remember some of those memories.  I should have seen this one coming.  A few weeks prior he had added me on Facebook again- albeit briefly.  He deleted me a few days later after I asked him what brought him to reach out to me.  It was about events that never happened.

“I wanted you to come see me play.”

Why do we always fall for the Bad Bad Things?