Breakfast with a friend

I breakfasted with a friend the other day — that sounds so last-century British, doesn’t it? — he was mired in the long travail of it all, the prospects stuck in limbo, the years of difficulty, the payoffs lingering beyond reach. 

Thoughts too squeaky high note weren’t for him. At that time he could only feel the low notes, nothing was high or light for him. High notes were only annoying. 

I’ve felt that, feeling so low that a happy person grated more with every syllable uttered . . . as this site must do to those who come to it on a too-down day.

What did I say to him that day?

Nothing. 

I listened. Sometimes you just want to release the crap from your soul, and an attentive listener is all that is required.

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