My crony, my mate

15 09 2013

G. is a pretty terrific person to hang out with. Probably because G. is a pretty terrific person.

G. is my friend C.’s friend, and a big part of the reason I think G is pretty terrific is because C. is the one who told me.

I’d met G. years ago, and the three of us stayed up very very late talking about. . . I don’t even remember what, but it was enough that we could stay up very very late and want to stay up even later, just to keep going.

G.’s visited C. a couple of times since then, but it wasn’t until last night that I got to hang out with her again. It was great, and it wasn’t enough: she had to get up early to catch her flight, so instead of very very late we talked while we could and called it, early. Too early; too bad.

C.’s a good friend of mine. Not the first I made in New York, but one of those who I know I would like to know for the rest of my life. Neither of us would ever be accused of cheerfulness—we do have a few things in common—but C., unlike me, is able to express her love for the people who make hanging out in this weird old world something not just to be endured, but savored.

G. is one of those people.

I probably would have figured this out on my own, but C.’s obvious delight in her friend, and the fact that she wanted to share this friend with me, allowed me to slip off my usual wariness when meeting new people and skip right to enjoying my friend’s friend.

Which, I think, makes C. one of those people, too.

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