If One Drinks Much from a Bottle Marked Poison...

A few nights ago a beautiful black man came into work. He looked like money and good taste. He struck up a conversation with Summer and I, in the course of which we learned he was from Chicago. An odd, unexpected little feeling crept into me. A small strike of pain. But it wasn't just my memory. Yeah, the mention of Chicago made me think, "Oh yeah, the White Rabbit," but it wasn't in my brain. It was in my heart. Which was weird, because I thought it was just the betrayal and the rejection and his pretty, pretty shell, but I guess I actually miss him a little, too. Hmm.