Smoke Break

“Hi, Carter.”

“Hi, Louise.”

“I saw you Saturday afternoon. You and a woman were walking down Third. I saw you from across the street. I waved and waved at you, but you didn’t wave back.”

“Really. Were you, by any chance, wearing a hat? Because I suffer from an unfortunate condition known as ‘hat blindness,’ a quirk of the brain rendering me unable to recognize someone wearing a hat if I‘m used to seeing them without a hat.”

“I was wearing a hat, actually. My sombrero. I wear it sometimes on weekends, because it makes me feel festive.”

“So that was you! You can understand how, because of my condition, I perceived you as a stranger and a madwoman, and therefore sensibly ignored you. ”

“I saw you Saturday, too.”

“You did, Elmer?”

“Saturday night. You and group of people were coming out of a club on First. I said ‘Hello’, you walked right past.”

“Really. I don’t discuss it much, but I also suffer from an unfortunate condition known as ‘bald fag blindness,’ a quirk of the brain rendering me unable to recognize bald fags I’m acquainted with from work when I see them unexpectedly outside of work.”

“That explains it.”

“I also saw you Saturday,” said Edna. “In the morning. You were by yourself, on the shore at the lake. I fell out of my canoe. I frantically waved and yelled at you. But you didn‘t see me.”

“Actually, I distinctly recall waving back. You must not have noticed with all your splashing and screaming.”

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