Listening to Albin, I had decided, was not dissimilar to looking into a kaleidoscope: colors shifting so rapidly you couldn’t savor the patterns of what you’d just seen.
“Love had eluded me until then,” he continued. “Do you believe in predestination? Roy was only there for a progressive dart tournament. He had never been in that bar before. He never was again. It’s all in the timing. Roy saw what was going on from the scoreboard. I mean, gay bars have plenty of foolishness, but a one-armed man in a pointy pink birthday hat, on a sticky floor, counting out push-ups, gets attention. He saw me collapse on my face and how everyone just stood there, drunk and dumbfounded, as I struggled to my feet, holding up my head to stop the bleeding. He rushed away to get paper towel from the men’s room.
