I wanted to say something witty and tell him how much his writing has impacted me in the short time I've been reading him.
But I was scared and the wit wouldn't come out.
Fortunately, another writer from Roosevelt convinced me to go back in line and show him a flyer for our Literary Magazine, Oyez Review. Both of us, brave, extended an invitation for him to submit. He nodded, then folded our flyer into a box, where he placed other cards that people have given him inside. I'm not sure if that's good or not.
BUT I MET TAO LIN.
On the way home, I got off on the wrong stop. I was lost, but I wasn't scared because I heard music. It was like Chicago was rocking out for me.
I followed it, and, sure enough, there was an outdoor concert, a band called 16 Candles, singing "Purple Rain" to a crowd of people, on outdoor tables, drinking beer. A sign over them read "Octoberfest". Maybe they're trying to get a jump on the month. Ambush the fucker.
A man with long hair was grooving to it. His facial features were exactly like Patrick Swayze. His dancing was not. Then it reminded me that he was gone and I became sad. Then I became happy again, because two lesbians were slow dancing in front of me. They looked like they had known each other for years. Someday, I want to love a lesbian that much.