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damiel," said J. last night as we ate fantastic Franco-Cambodian food (although it must be pointed out that she did not, in fact, call him "Damiel"); "I've had two long study sessions in the Someday Cafe in the last week without seeing him at least walk by."
I allowed as how this was unusual.
Her comment was prompted by the sighting of a man in a black turtleneck with the same hairstyle as Damiel's sitting with his back to us. It was the second Damiel-clone I'd seen that evening (the other had been on the Red Line at Kendall Square).
And then we spotted the man himself an hour later at Porter Square, his army of clone-agents having pinpointed our location (or he himself having read my journal yesterday, I suppose).
What is he up to?
Years ago he and I used to joke that when he arrived at any social gathering it was time for me to leave (for coincidentally that is how it often worked out). This pattern has long been broken, and now, it seems, he is inevitable.
Dinner was good, though. Except J.'s half chicken was not cooked in the center, obviously a failed assassination attempt.
Possiblyvicissitude is in on it as well; while I was waiting for the bus to Kendall at BU he drove by, cleverly attracting attention to himself so I wouldn't suspect him of secret conspiracy.
damiel," said J. last night as we ate fantastic Franco-Cambodian food (although it must be pointed out that she did not, in fact, call him "Damiel"); "I've had two long study sessions in the Someday Cafe in the last week without seeing him at least walk by."I allowed as how this was unusual.
Her comment was prompted by the sighting of a man in a black turtleneck with the same hairstyle as Damiel's sitting with his back to us. It was the second Damiel-clone I'd seen that evening (the other had been on the Red Line at Kendall Square).
And then we spotted the man himself an hour later at Porter Square, his army of clone-agents having pinpointed our location (or he himself having read my journal yesterday, I suppose).
What is he up to?
Years ago he and I used to joke that when he arrived at any social gathering it was time for me to leave (for coincidentally that is how it often worked out). This pattern has long been broken, and now, it seems, he is inevitable.
Dinner was good, though. Except J.'s half chicken was not cooked in the center, obviously a failed assassination attempt.
Possibly
vicissitude is in on it as well; while I was waiting for the bus to Kendall at BU he drove by, cleverly attracting attention to himself so I wouldn't suspect him of secret conspiracy.
