A revisit of an older piece, "Rudy":
We did not see each other often. I knew Rudy’s smell, the length of his watch chain from pocket to buttonhole, how his hand felt when it covered mine on top of his cane, that his suits had pinstripes, and that the spots on his bald head were the colour of brown sugar. We shared an intimacy beyond our seemingly casual friendship, though, and when we spoke, we were not alone in the world. My letter to him had apparently made this connection public, but it was something I did not want to speak of to a sanctuary full of his people. We were still our own secret. We were an affair of the heart.