Somewhere in Missouri
Anne's graduation party was full of her friends and family, many of whom had come a long way to celebrate her success, myself included. I met her college friends, which was wonderful because I'd heard so much about them. And I guess they'd heard about me, too.

On the deck that overlooked a dense wood, I sat down next to someone's fiancé. He looked like a lot of men around here: fat, and wearing a golf shirt embroidered with a company logo. He was holding a cold Bud Light and looked at me from behind sunglasses.

“I went to New York once,” he said.
“Yeah?”
“For 10 hours.”
“Oh.”
“It was sort of a spur-of-the-moment thing. We flew in to see Garth Brooks in Central Park. And then we flew right back home.”
“Cool.”
“I didn't like New York.”

OK then.