The Last Time I Saw Chris
He had been lately marooned by the captain of a luxurious Italian charter boat on a small island in the Grenadines. Now he was leaving Morgantown to take a job in international finance somewhere in New York City. I was preparing to go overseas on a long term assignment and had a biscuit with him in the campus cafeteria. Just like the first time I met him, he had a huge smile on his face. He was a real visionary, to have been on the scene during the Golden Era of Flamenco. He gave me a very small book called “100 Male Nudes.” We were about 25. He was still wearing a ruffly shirt — like Lord Byron in the frozen food aisle, or something like that. It took Catherine, my fiancé, coming home from her business trip to Vancouver, to comfort me.
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