The night after the hurricane I slept in the backseat of a rented Forester on the sweating, palm-frond scattered streets of Key West. Another blackout. Another fractured friendship. Yelling, running, pushing, wives called, police threatened. I regain consciousness at 4am, wheels spinning in the flood. I’m turned away from three motels. Computer bookings mean you can’t check-in late, like how bank software prevents wire transfers on holidays.
I’m great at making friends and better at losing them. It wasn’t until this trip that I got why. Nietzsche says, “the friend should be a master in conjecture and in keeping silence: you must not want to see everything. Your dream should tell you what your friend does when awake
