I heard their voices coming through the dark but couldn’t work out the direction. Climbing up the little hill I caught the nearness of them. There were two of them, students I presume, sitting on the wee bench on the corner of the bend. One was doing most of the talking and the other was listening, head bent. You don’t have to take on other people’s shit, the talker was saying, it’s their shit not yours, man. I know, said the other, his head still bent. They didn’t stop talking as a I walked by. They were enclosed in their, evidently a trifle inebriated cocoon, and my presence or overhearing of their conversation had no importance. I saw them again on my return. They were ahead of me, still talking earnestly but this time it was the counselee rattling on, in a rather drawled, slurring way. You see, he said, I don’t want to be too clever. No, said his friend, you’re too friendly for that, you like to get on with people. You like to talk.
