I can recall it, not clearly, but I can recall it. It comes, through the haze of a decade, through the rose tinted lens of nostalgia.
The memory comes not easily, but in tiny parcels, piecemeal, like the slow striptease of a lover.
I recall the November chill in the air, the warmth of the coat on my shoulders, and the reassuring weight of the the sword at my belt.
I remember thinking it was going to be an interesting night.
The night in question is one of those ideas from another era. Let’s blindfold my roommate for his 21st birthday, take him to a public place, then draw live steel swords and then have a man dressed up as the pope stop the fight.
I’m really glad that we had the foresight to videotape it.