C. A. Kaufman
Adamo was the first close friend I made in the city. For a long time after our friendship ended, before I made new friends, I had a lot of free time and no air conditioner. I would open my bedroom window as wide as I could and lie down underneath it trying not to sweat too fast, imagining what I would say to him if we ever spoke again. Mostly I regretted that I never said Your name is fucking Adam, okay. His dad was a cop in Chicago and IA had just begun investigating him. I still see him on the train at least once a week because neither of us ever left the neighborhood. Mostly I want to ask him Hey how in jail is your dad right now. I haven't done any research because I forgot Adamo's last name but I'm sure his dad got sent up. We had a falling out after he said I looked exactly like an ex-girlfriend whose name he refused to tell me and also because I told him that I thought his dad was guilty. He texted me the morning after his twenty-third birthday that neither he nor anyone I had ever met through him wanted to see or speak to me again. That put me in a weird position because he and his friends were the only people I'd met in the city so far, and also I lived in the same building as most of them. In fact one of them was my roommate.