at stable with J and your brother, after they help you move apartments. sitting together in the sun by the plants. as she brings your plates to the table, the barista looks at you and says "so you do have friends," smiling.
she sticks in your mind because there was a word she didn't know once. superfluous, maybe. waiting in line, you listen while the older man making coffee explains it to her. one sentence after another, angling around it. you feel an itch, when one usage glances by the wrong way. nearly right, but a better fit for extraneous? it was so intimate, you felt. a word from a particular person. definition askew in the shape of them. so much is like that.
the day before you move, you chat with R when you come home from the airport. you gossip exuberantly, recall people you wouldn't be able to talk about with anyone else, people you were both there for. you hadn't talked like that for a long time. the talking is implicit acknowledgement that something will be lost.
the two of you don't talk about leaving, save logistics. everyone asks, as though you would. you think about texting. 'stay in touch :)' maybe. though it seems things had been ground down to a smooth nub. nothing left to say.
you think about the last time you lived alone. seattle: the city tormented you after, all year. at night, there's too much clarity. like all the world is thin glass, you can see past everything into nothing.