I met Richard at a local bar. He sat alone in a corner booth and brushed my hand as I walked by, on my way to the restroom.
My friend, Whitney, had gone home for the night. I decided to stay for another drink. Richard offered to pay for it.
“Thanks,” I said, puzzled by his charity. I agreed to sit with Richard, despite the fact that he looked thirty years my senior and was dressed like an old yuppie.
Richard told me that he’d recently moved to Grass Valley; that he’d rented a three bedroom house with a creek that ran through the back yard. He said that he liked the clean air and evergreen trees, and the fact that his money went further in the small town than in New York, where he’d earned his small fortune.
“What about you?” said Richard.
“What about me?”
“Tell me something about yourself.”
“I work at the department store downtown,” I said.