The Rules of Attraction

“What does that mean? Know me?” I ask him. “Know me? No one ever knows anyone. Ever. You will never know me.”

“No one ever likes the right person,” I say.

“No one will ever know anyone. We just have to deal with each other. You’re not ever gonna know me.”

I see this girl, Vanden, for a while, who paints my futon frame black and who stopped seeing me because she said she saw “a spider the size of Norman Mailer” in my bathroom. I didn’t ask her who Norman Mailer was, and I didn’t ask her to come back.

But what else is one to do at college except drink beer or slash your wrists?