May 20

i walk into books-a-million; khaki pants, white-tee, and sperry's. michael is wearing the same thing i am and we both order coffee. i get mine with whipped cream and michael gets his with none. i don't sit at my table; because i sit by the window.

we both open a book, me reading about Ronald Reagan as i read something else; something i can't spot the title of. Michael looks concerned as i scratch my nose, sipping our coffee with whipped cream and without periodically, still reading.

i look young, yet potentially older; you know that questionable type. we wear socks in our boat shoes, as i normally do. why wouldn't i? my name is michael.

I watch, waiting for something, and yet not knowing anything other than that i must begin remembering, everything. nothing comes to mind. michael and i keep reading, but aren't absorbing, nor remembering, as i mentioned before, i am concerned.

"I have to go" we think; but where? neither of us knows; but michael sort of does; that faint kind of sort of, like right before i leave a place i won't be coming back to. not certain, but almost positive; yet not rational because michael won't be coming back to this place.

i remember a hotel room, and a tooth brush, maybe my shirt behind the bathroom door; we always remember later; a week later when michael unpacks his bags.

now i am focused, because i'm looking concentrated like; not all around, up and down like; noticing the chocolate mint magazines and cheap matt damon movies like. i hope i'm taking everything in, because michael for sure is not, we don't know a thing about Ronald Reagan, nor the Salt II agreements. good thing michael's reading something else, something i don't know the title of.