Why would anyone have expected that he wouldn’t become unhinged after he was cast aside – with a glad-hand – by his family, both the one he had devoted himself, and the one of his upbringing (most, but not all, of course) ?

His friends found him very annoying (most, but not all, of course) … sometimes entertaining, but mostly annoying and sad.

They let his calls go to voicemail; and, their thumbs would hesitate before they hit the like button. There were too many dangers and duties to shore up anyway for anything as frivolous as “frivolous time with old friends.” Not even on Zoom. The Pilates hadn’t been done.

That's what preoccupied them -- something more august and noble than those who preoccupied themselves with video games and cable TV. They lavished themselves, instead, with the satisfaction that the Pilates (or whatever was holier that anything else) had been done.

Most were oblivious to the trends and ideologies that constituted the "now." And, yet they saw themselves as those to refashion the inertia of History to their own liking, like a hamburger ordered a-la-cart for their offspring, without knowing a spit about the trajectory it had taken since their arising into the cosmos.

Nonetheless, they were surprised … beside themselves that he went unhinged.

-– ¡Imaginate! Que verguenza.

They (those) were also the sort to be surprised (and continue to be) by the likes of … well, … anybody that’s in the news these days – fake or otherwise.

It’s not surprising, though.

What might have surprised them, was how flavorful the pollo encebollado came out. Lots of “umami” and a touch of saffron.

He had made several calls trying to invite someone, anyone to share it with him either in person or via a device. None would be available that day, though -- not even those whom he had offered to pay their round-trip train fare in addition to wining-and-dining them.

(this was before the global pandemic that would further distance them (ir give another convenient reason for it) though this situation would have benefited from their prior friendship and chamaraderie -- their solidarity as "friends.")

This was not surprising, either.

He had grown inured to their vague reasons for politely declining with remarkable consistently over the past few years. He had also both carefully investigated his suspicions, and collected anecdotal reports verifying that, ultimately, they feared him.

They seemed, despite the brilliance of their youth or education or lifelong experience together, to have succumbed to this national cancer of believing everything they read or saw in the news, distinguishing themselves only by what talking points they applauded for or reviled. Naturally, then, he would be feared as the prevailing narrative for people who were like him in the news was that they were very, very dangerous -- like how a tamed lion is, still, very dangerous.

Maybe they were right -- prudent. Nonetheless, he enjoyed the pollo encebollado very much, despite his lack of company. Black bean soup over white rice and garlic toast accompanied it, and he sopped it all up stoned, mildly tipsy and partially naked, sad for them to both have missed out on it and for how much their lives had become a continual response to fear.