Peter Smalley was waiting by my car when I got out to the parking lot, slumped against the front quarter panel, his hand gripping two library books against his leg while he looked at his phone. There wasn’t enough wrong with him that it was immediately obvious. Until you studied him carefully, there was just a nagging sense that something was off, not quite right—his awkward gait, lopsided expressions, and, when he spoke, the mild speech impediment that made him sound slightly drunk. Looking at him now, I got the sense that he was posed, his skinny ass irreverently parked on the cherry finish of my car, his hip hitched at an angle to give the appearance of indifference. He was an actor playing a role, Guy Casually Waiting for Friend at Car. Just like he had played the Betrayed by Life role while talking about his sister at the Siegel Center. “Hey, Pete,” I said as my car alarm chirped under him. His face lit up when he saw me and I wondered how long he had been waiting. “Hey, Jesse,”
