Last weekend was Alistair’s pool party, an annual tradition for a growing circle that includes a lot of my high school friends.
When I moved back north last fall, I felt strange picking up with my friends from ten or fifteen years ago. I still feel awkward answering the first questions you’d ask anyone back in town after a long absence, those basic questions about why I moved back or what I’d been doing, because I came back to New Jersey so completely battered from the intersection of relationship and career failures.
But, hey, if you ever need to reboot your life at almost-thirty, these are some of the guys to do it with!
We were still at the grocery store before Alistair’s party when the shenanigans began.
No, I didn’t get the cookbook. Mostly because the temptation to try the recipes would be too great, but also because I wanted to spend that money on beer.
Alistair is a tattoo artist (Yes, all my friends are cooler than me. Thanks for noticing!), so most of his friends at the party were inked and decorated, sporting retro-cute bathing suits, wild haircolors, and piercings. I was impressed (and a tiny bit intimidated) by how awesome all the guests looked, and I said as much to my high-school friend Colron.
“Oh,” Colron said, realization dawning after a moment’s reflection. “This conversation is about fashion. Ok, carry on.”
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