Of course, there’s no way I would go, he says. Can you imagine? Being in the room with President Reagan and my father at the same time? I think I’d burst into flames. Anyhow, I’ll figure something out. I just want to get back to the city.

On a whim, I call a little club in the East Village that’s doing open mics on Tuesday nights, the same nights they do buy-one-get-two on drinks. You never know if the audience is going to love everything because they’re drunk or hate everything for the same reason.

I tell them I’m interested in being added to the list, but I lie about my age and lie about my phone number.

Then I hang up when I realize I was lying about my interest.

It’s too early in the year for serious homework, and I’m feeling lost, so I head to Vinnie’s Videos. I don’t even feel like watching a movie, but I need to do something.

I search through the comedies, knowing that nothing is going to make me laugh.

Bartolomeo, someone calls.

I turn to see Adam Rose, this guy from school, his blue work apron eclipsed by the massive stack of videos he’s supposed to be re-shelving. Hold on, he says.

He sets the stack down, all but one copy of Tron. Seriously, he says, pointing to a label on the tape’s front that reads PLEASE BE KIND; REWIND. How hard is it to rewind a freaking tape before you return it?

I shrug.

So, what are you looking for? Need a recommendation or anything?

I scan the shelves. Do you have any movies to watch when you really aren’t in the mood to watch a movie, but you need to stop thinking for a while? I ask.

I’m not sure why I’ve spewed all that. Adam and I have had some classes together, but it isn’t like we really hang out. He’s part of the music clique, though, so maybe in another life, we could have been friends.

He glances at the clock and says, If you don’t want to watch anything, you’re welcome to tag along with me. I’m going to a party at David Hayne’s place when I get off. His parents are out of town.

A party sounds like something that will take more energy than I have. But then I look around at the store. At the torn video cases and the too-bright lights. At some little kid whose parents are dragging him out of the store for screaming about wanting to play Donkey Kong.

Sure, I say, surprising both of us.

Not like I have anything else to do.

I go home, change, and throw some mousse in my hair. Then I meet Adam back at the store. Normally quiet, he tries to entertain me with stories from the video store and doesn’t seem to mind when I nod back distractedly.

We bus it crosstown to the Upper East Side and the Haynes’ apartment building. Adam presses the button, and we’re buzzed in. I can hear the music as soon as we’re through the lobby door, The Police singing “Every Breath You Take,” which I’m already sick of because it’s been playing on every radio station in the city for months.