The Quarterback

Fifty separate conversations…

Fifty separate conversations ricocheted off the oak-stained paneling and died in the burnt-orange shag. At one of the dozen round, collapsible tables covered with clipped-on, mysteriously stained mixed-fiber table cloths, this one baptized in draught beer and drops of seafood sauce, a couple of classmates sat with the quarterback and his spouse. He stared off into space, while she scowled down at her hands clutching an empty red cup.

A classmate walked up, smiling nervously, glasses, mouse-brown bangs and a black ponytail scrunchy, a nice summer dress.

“I had such a crush on you in high school!” she said.

“You want him, he’s yours,” said his wife.

He was on the bench and had been for 40 years.

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Author: makingsenseofcomplications

I have an academic background in literature and, separately, science. My career has been in industry in positions of increasing responsibility assisting in the drug development process - one of the most amazing intellectual pursuits of the human mind, among many other amazing intellectual pursuits. I am interested in films, philosophy, history, art, music, science (obviously), literature (also obviously), some video gaming, human behavior, and many other topics. I wish there was more time in every day because we have a world that is full of amazing phenomena that are considered too superficially by too many. Although my first and last names are fictional, I think I believe in all of the stuff you read here, although I retain the right in perpetuity of changing my thoughts about anything written herein.

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