Jun 5, 2014

Paul Anthony Smith

I can’t remember the first time I met Paul Smith. Every time I’ve seen him, it seems as though he’s seen me first. From across a parking lot, perched on a window ledge, or from somewhere behind or below. Each time, he says my name with this nostalgic fondness as though months have passed since we saw each other last. “Robert,” he calls to me faintly (no matter how close), “what are you doing?” And the question is never idle chit chat. It is always an overwhelming expression of intention, as though my answer may lead him to pack a single bag and join me, or to challenge whatever path would lead to such an answer. “Just filling my car with gas…Paul.” No, Robert. What are you doing?

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