That deep southern drawl pulls me in again. “You may not believe this,” he says, “But I can see you, I know exactly where and how your standing....You’re standing with your hand on your hip, trying to look out the window without getting too close. Wondering if you will spot me, finally get to see where I am. Catch me staring at your nakedness. That’s it look harder, you have no idea where I could possibly be.” “Please…” I whisper into the phone. “Oh, yes, I see everything you do, I see when you. He was 25, the same age as me, and he looked a lot like Brad Pitt. I knew this, because my girlfriend told me so, every – single – time – she saw him. I knew too, that he was from somewhere out west and his parents still lived there. He’d found a job in Chicago after taking six years to finish a four-year BA at Northwestern where he’d been some kind of jock. And that was about the extent of my knowledge. Except, that he was an asshole. Now, you may remember, I’ve mentioned that before and. More

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