But it was in D.C.! He had scribbled a personal message on the invite—"You gotta come to the opening—it's really deep shit, this time." Apparently...the National Endowment for the Arts was providing the funding.I looked on the card for the gallery name and address—there wasn't any. The card simply instructed me to be at the Rosslyn Metro station at 8 PM on the date of the opening. Curioser and curioser, I thought. But I made arrangements. I could stay with friends who lived in Georgetown and. I had, however, decided to try to avoid appearing pushy or "stalkerish," and so I had never mentioned it and had remained committed to not pressing my luck, unless she invited. And ... this seemed to be a sort of invite.The next day, mid-morning, I was working at my computer (ok, I was surfing the internet, reading stories on alt.sex.stories, not actually working), when I saw her name go active in the yahoo messenger. Long ago, I had created a username for myself to match my authorial. More

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