Homing
A Short Story by Jack Mint I had noticed him as if remembering someone from the past. Curiosity pulled me with the promise of blissful nostalgia if I could just get a look at his face. His memory didn’t have a name but perhaps a pure and joyful remembrance would come back of the guy I wish I got to know better. Like most good omens in my life, he slipped away. The crowd at First Friday swallowed into their boisterous bustle. It was a blind hope anyway. I’d been here my entire life and would have remembered a man…