I tried not to think about what ifs. Maybe I could have stayed, graduated with honors, and got a career in...shit, I don't know, managing a small coffee shop in Orinda. Like they needed another. The ones there barely made enough profit for the nine to five henchmen in the morning. God, I'd need a coffee to remind myself there's something other than shitty news radio with ugly reception.

This friend of mine, Agare, was still studying there. He had his own apartment, finally a car besides Juanito's, but I'm still sure that he's the person I knew my freshmen year. Hell, he was probably that way years before that.

We talked about death, not romance. Life wasn't as kind to me as it was for him (although I say he was just more stupid). He was a dick sometimes, and it didn't matter that I knew because he was the only person up at night to talk with. Why did I even come back here?

Of course we headed up to the cross. It was only ten, early compared back to five years ago. I wondered if anyone else had tried to dig under the Spanish-engraved monument, finding our sweat and blisters. In case you don't remember, there was nothing there. Still nothing, I bet.

Agare picked up smoking since then. I'll admit, if I had stayed here, I would have been there with him. That, and and by graduation, a bowl and a bottle of vodka wouldn't have done anything either.

At Agare's place, I noticed that he had no colors. Even his closet lacked any of those green lantern shirts he'd wear. God, I didn't want to wear anything like that here. Shit, I'd cover myself in red first...

The biggest difference was that I had no need to tell him the truth. I lied and said that I wasn't dating anyone. I lied and never mentioned I was in the area to look for a ring. Although telling him about it would also be a lie, I didn't bother with that at the moment.

I had a feeling he was dating a younger girl, maybe a sophomore (the back of my head resonated with the sound freshmen but I more or less ignored it). He also said he wasn't seeing anyone. Good. Just like before. Now we can bitch. I'd bet he became much less bitter, like the good 'ol guy he was. Whatever kept him from slitting his wrists.

Anyway, part of me wanted to kiss him. But the idea of him getting livid at the cross, filled with darkness around the two spot lights, while fantastic and poetic, kept me from doing so. It was late November, and the thorns were apparent, and most of all, dry as fuck.

But, Agare's a dick. Maybe I'll kiss him and throw him down. For all the times he soaked up my advice, my nieve knowledge that was always right, and jizzed on it in his sleep. For the time he thought that cuddling against his will would say, “I'm sorry, but now I'm gonna sleep with her, the one on the other side of the bed.”

The next morning I drove from his place, he waved, barefoot from the door. Maybe if we had some drinks, or smoked a bowl. Oh wait, he stayed there, and he turned into this beast that couldn't feel inebriated. He couldn't feel out of control. Huh. That's what you get, I guess, when you someone finds out your future for you.

Poor guy? Naw, just a sorry soul. They make good company in the night, before you disapear.