After dinner with Katie's father, we coincidentally run into an old salesman friend of his in the hotel bar lobby, a real Bill Brasky kind of guy.
"I knew this guy," he says, an arm around Katie's father, "when I was, what, twenty-six? Practically grew up with him."
On the way home, I see my friend Kevin, whom I've known since high school, waiting on the Q Train platform at Union Square.
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