" I'm considering what number to type when Bill says, "Tell him the truth." Hmm, I hadn't considered that, but I follow orders and type a math equation that will let my friend calculate the actual number. Bill is laughing so hard he might need a seatbelt to stay in his chair. Fortunately, my friend Bill — my always sensitive and caring friend — can't help saying, "So, what is wrong with you tonight?
I need to start by thanking my co-worker for suggesting this story's headline. "So basically you're saying you want me to act as — what would you call it — bait? (And, though I didn't admit it at the time, maybe a tad concerned that users just might click past me, too.
"I was hoping you'd, um, help with the story," he said. As soon as they see me, they'll click, 'Next.'" OK, he did have a point there.
I can make out rows of identical chairs behind him.
*** A slender, spikey-haired Asian man is sitting in a sleek, black-and-silver chair. It certainly is some sort of public place — the legs of a woman and small child walk past at the edge of the frame.
I'm not as young as I used to be.) "Well, that's not how I'd put it," he said, "but ..." He pointed out I could write a story called: "Why I'll never go on Chatroulette again." Then, he threw in a promise that he'd take me along the next time he got a media invite to Ted Haggard's house. I said, "Yes." I guess I have a soft spot for perverts.
*** I don't like to back out of my agreements, but I'll admit that when Bill shows up at my house on Saturday night, it takes me two very tall glasses of boxed Chablis to stick to this one.
"Take friend with you." Now, Bill is not only entertained, he's enamored.
"You are a sweet YOUNG man." "You seem to not want so big," he adds. You are so sweet." "I like you very very," he goes on.
(No, not really.) I also discover he's a college student studying "machinery integrates" and he speaks three languages.