pull me long shots.

...and he walked toward my table like he knew before strolled in that he was going to sit in the empty chair facing me. quickly, and out of old habit, i flipped over the book i was reading, because in the last nine hours i'd remembered why i'd been hesitant to read books by ordinary radicals who believed in a god. and like any smooth talker he sized me up and asked me not what i was reading, but why i'd tried to hide it. i've never been one to be a smooth liar. i've almost given it up. so i tried to explain it, and with a confused look, he asked why i'd ever let anyone make me feel like i shouldn't do what i loved. and i've never given anyone my reasoning in its entirety, because i'm much better at distracting and changing the subject and focusing it on you. and he played the game as well as i did, and he pressed and pressed. but i'm a seasoned athlete in the sport of subject changing, and every smooth talker is a little bit arrogant because the good ones know they bat their lashes well. and i told him it didn't make sense. maybe some other time. because most people, i've learned, only meet me once. and he told me more about himself. and then i found out we're attending the same small university and, hell, we even have the same job...