If you hadn't noticed by now I don't really remember things chronologically. Maybe nobody does, but Proust was able to write like a million and a half words (your average, 150 - 200 page book is like 50,000-some words for y'all to know who ain't fixin' to be writers and such...) in a fairly chronological type telling of his life, aside from the dipping the cookie in the tea part, but I don't know how the fuck to remember anything in chronological order. You see, right now I'm trying to remember early 2008, like, still living with Stephen in the South African's room (whose name was Uys but you pronounced it like "Ace" for some reason), and all I can remember is going out to buy a six-pack of Budweiser tallboys on Flatbush Ave. (something I remember hearing in a Wu-Tang song, so I was both very excited to say I had been there and nervous that I was going to get shot all at the same time) and doing the introduction conversation with Stephen for a few hours that first night. He had a boyfriend named Lee he had been with for about the same amount of time I had been with Brooke—and being chronological is obviously not working for me, so maybe I don't try to force it anymore, okay? Okay.