At a party tonight, a boy from out of town--Minnesota, I think--sat down with my friend Kelsey and myself on the balcony of her apartment. It was her going-away party--she's moving to Orange County to live with her boyfriend. I am happy because she is happy--although i cannot relate to wanting to live with a man. I'd be happy if I could just live by myself (sorry Tana, I love you so much, but you know how we both really wish we could have our own places!).

He sits down. His younger sister is with him; she looks to be maybe 20. He has a thick Armenian accent.

"You--are you a poet?" he asks, looking at me. I had been staring vacantly into space to the left of his head. "I think you are a poet."

"Me?"

"Yes. Do you...(he seemed to be struggling for the right words, as though English did not come easily to him) write the poetry?"

I denied that I did, but Kelsey told him that yes, I did write poetry.

I left absurdly gratified by the whole thing, and trying to hide it.