I got the wedding invite.  I was trying to ignore him for the last couple weeks.  Usually I get excited if ____ wants to do something.  I tried to tip-toe for a moment—i had to think this out—he goes "Don't pull an Artin on me."  To my defense, I was fresh off a binge.    What do these guys know about my binge?  He thinks I didn't go cause I would rather go get fucked up somewhere else.  That and because we had talked before about how once he got a girlfriend, that was it.  Me and him were close, or at least I thought we were, then he got his girl—i get it, he was a fat curly haired philosophy major who liked country music and drove a cool cop car—I just wasted $1.75 not planning my route— He was the smartest guy we had.  I can recall him driving me around while I got drunk after they got close at the Big Bear retreat, or hanging out much after that—this asian lady missing teeth is singing next me.  Im not going to take a picture.  Too much class.  Not a hipster.  I thought she was on a blue tooth or disgruntled.  Nope, just singing...ona popo, ona popo, ona popo.  Too much class—I'll transcribe it.  So I didn't say anything about it for two years, suffered in silence i did, ona popo you know?  Then in a drunken fb message i ranted one night, "don't you ever feel bad that you ignored all your friends?"

He replied, "the only one i ever felt bad about was you."  I guess that nice.  It was never the same again.  I would have still gone to his wedding.  We were still close.  I had my own issues.

But the fact remains, dear reader—say, do you have a quarter?—I didn't go.  I didn't call afterwards.  

I could have used a good lawyer.  He prolly wouldn't have charged me.  Obviously I would have gotten offended.