but what about…

when you’ve finished what you wanted/needed to take care of and you need your “hostage” back?

True story:  I went to see “You, Me and Everyone We Know” at a theater in West Village when I lived in NYC the first-time-round.  I went as a “date” with a boy I who reminded me of Peter Kraus (tall, red-headed) and was a film something-or-other who would ride a skateboard to my Green Point apartment from midtown.  I liked the movie, I know I did, but for some reason I can’t ever remember being with him inside the theater.  Instead I just remember standing with him on the platform, waiting for the G train.  It took ages and I was afraid he’d get mad.  Lately I’m astounded by how fragmented memories can be.  Mine, yours…and everyone in between…

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