Re: log: easy + miles; reunion
There was an appreciation in the concept of keeping this moment kindled on some backburner in an archived, memory-laden pit of his brainpan. He can’t recall the last, long-lost embrace he’d found himself armed into. He is content in it, peering his bloodshot eyes over at the heatsoaked concrete of the neighborhood street littered with little kids weaving on their teacup bicycles. He hadn’t been positive on if Easy would be receptive to that sorta gesture, despite his inkling to the contrary, his own being in the teeth of an impulse to do so. Before he could decide the right course of action, since he himself often overmuch studied a situation far too carefully in assessment of it before taking action, he was glad that he had done it first. Before the pluck of his own muddy self doubt and desire would have surely drown in too much debating. He is not uncomfortable showing emotion, but he understands this sentiment. He had squeezed for emphasis, a symptom of his welcome of it.
“Don’t know where to begin,” said he, the slope of him slack and already pregamed with a blood-alcohol count on an army of cans he’d lost track of despite his mathematic efforts. “Can’t recall the last time I seen your face. Sure did get uglier,” he joked, but then again, “But don’t we all.”
He looked at me she said, HANK I SAID he looked at me. You think he can see me?
Miles momentarily demonstrated a flicker of annoyance at the words, playing it off as having been a reaction to his inability to excavate the lighter out of his back pocket.