Not Strange Enough

The other day was spent at night sitting in a living room close to my home with 3 men, 2 which I consider friends. It was late and we had been drinking and I was very tired and hadn't eaten a meal in a whole day and I was very delirious from my hunger thank the heavens that my friend #1 was making pasta for everyone. He's a good friend. These people are not the kind of people you hang out with late at night and not expect to get into a deep conversation. Their house resonates with the aroma of garlic, herbs, existentialism, theosophy, music and at the current moment existentialism mixed with suicide. I was glad when the suicide conversation ended with my friend #2 saying "I just wish I could meet a girl who is strange enough." That made me smile, for I knew it to be absolutely true, the only true thing said over the last hour, day, and maybe month. What is a strange woman made of I know not, for they are never strange enough in the shadows of a moonlit house with 4 men eating pasta in the middle of the night wondering where the strange women dwell as if they were exotic creatures roaming wildly through the fabric of time, and our nets aren't big enough to catch them, nor strong. That's how I like to remember that night. Redefining a species is exciting