I ran into an old friend, Mike, at the DMV yesterday who recently was involved in a pretty nasty altercation that put stitches in his face and throat. His face was bruised pretty badly, too. His attitude, though, was so good – he is happy to have survived the attack (which was, essentially, unprovoked), is happy to have a kind and beautiful girlfriend to go home to, is happy to be who he is.

Whenever I bump into Mike, I end up thinking about life in a pretty heavy way. (The last time we hung out, we had a great conversation about race.) I told him yesterday (jokingly) I wanted to give him a hug but I was afraid I would break him – he laughed and said “You can’t break me.” I believe it.

Of all the things lately that should make me want to write again, none of them have worked. But seeing Mike made me want to write.

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