I’m never quite right.
Our (long-standing) friendship is characterized by shrugs of managed despair, imitating indifference, whatever…
He’s often on his way somewhere. And just as often in need of an item of clothing: shirt, sweater, jacket.
Toby goes through my wardrobe, fastidiously.
Then I hear from other people that my taste sucks. And I shrug, y’know?
People ask what I see in Toby.
I always reply, “He is human… and a friend.”