Shel was in town again, and we returned for what, when I walked in, looked like a repeat of last April. Everyone in the kitchen were in the same places. As at the last party Shel spent most of it talking rapidly and pouring drinks. A British friend and I talked politics in the kitchen. He’s about to become an American citizen, and he said he was going to vote for Nader. (I wondered if he were becoming a citizen just so he could vote for Nader.) He’s hoping for a stock market crash that would enable the left to walk in and pick up the pieces. I pointed out that the far right is more numerous and better organized would be in a much better position to exploit such a situation.

Again, we stayed late. Milford beame loud and rambunctious. Donna kept snuggling up to him, kissing him, whispering softly in his ear, probably imploring him to take her home. Shel had to get up early to catch a flight back to New York. Mark, the actual host, sat against the wall nodding off. By the time we left it was only Mark and Shel, sitting silent in the living room like two drowsy islands.

Our British friend is still here, 25 years later. We spotted him last year being interviewed in a local documentary, so obviously he didn’t skeedaddle when voting for Nader resulted in… Ah well. There was a time when rereading this would have made me furiously angry. Now I just feel resigned.

He was a young, handsome, blackhaired computer geek, a British working-class red. He once told me that when he played Sim City, he spent a lot of time blowing up the churches.