There’s a guy here in the office with me. He likes to talk. He will not stand still when he talks to me, he paces and peers outside and is just a twitchy human. He likes to tell me stories about hunting. I’ve grown up listening to hunting stories, and I tire of them easily. However, we don’t have anything in common so as long as I let him ramble on about his turkey club (not that kind) and camper, I don’t have to come up with anything to say. He’s trying to be nice, I get it. I’d rather hear about his skydiving adventures, but he’d rather talk about hunting. So. He has also kept me up to date about this friend of his vacation progress. First he was coming to Pigeon Forge. Then they decided to go to Florida. Then the tropical storm hit, so they changed their plans back to here. So they all went out to eat last night (Holston’s, if you’re curious. I didn’t ask what they ordered, even though I really wanted to know). As he was telling this story, I wondered how he knew this guy. I remembered he’d told me, but I couldn’t recall how it was. And I couldn’t ask, because then he would know I hadn’t been paying attention, and so he…