I’ve known your name since I was fourteen.

I looked you up about twice a year for a while and then I stopped.

I’m not angry with you because you didn’t do anything and I’d rather not start a relationship by pretending I’m delighted, so: yes, I’ll meet you, and no, I don’t want anything, and please don’t bring a lawyer.

We met in a diner on Fourth Avenue in the July.

It went badly for about forty minutes, because I arrived with a prepared speech about how I was going to make it right, and because “making it right” is a thing that only means anything to the person saying it.