Emily…

…you were right. As much as I enjoy disagreeing with you, the atmosphere after you left tonight shaped up to be pretty much what you predicted. I was surrounded by fairly unintelligible, inebriated patrons whose slurred speech surely must have been the only obstacle between me and the philosophical epiphanies they espoused.

For lack of a better target, I found my gaze drifting toward the mirror on the back wall of the bar, where I locked on to my own eyes. I am familiar enough with social decorum to realize the air of narcissism commonly associated with staring at one’s own image, but as I proceeded to casually, spuriously, redirect my attention, I came to an equal counter-realization: perhaps we do not stare ourselves down quite often enough.

And so I sat at the bar those next few minutes, looking myself in the eye, wondering what I was still doing there. I never did come up with a very good reason. At that moment I came to understand that what mattered to me had walked out the door several minutes before, and that I should have followed.

Leave it to me.

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