I picked Jim up just down the road from the apartment which had been his home for the past four or five years. He was standing on the corner dressed in black with the hood of his jacket pulled over his head as he paced up and down beside his suitcase and the few plastic bags holding his last few odds and ends. Loading these into the back of the car we drove back to my place and Jim settled into the spare room. Later on we walked down to the nearest Family Mart and bought a few beers. Back home, we settled in for the night.
I first met Jim over four years ago. We had similar interests but as people we were quite different. At time Jim reminded me a little more of my brother, especially in terms of these interests, but they are also quite different. We first met when we were going to the same open mike together to read out poems and then Jim joined the short-lived Drunken Writers Guild, a writing group that I and my friend Jeremy Toombs started.