Howard is, liek the General, almost entirely fictional. Men like him, you want to think, are.
According to the story, he was born and/or raised in Penn. He was living at the time in Florida. We met at a bar. We had a one night stand. He took my email address, and then disappeared.
This part is boring. I decided to make him Jack because--he sat down on the floor of the hotel room, and he talks.
But Howard, not being his real name of course, never shows back up four years later. You can't write your own story even if you're a writer, not even if you're god.
What isn't boring, perhaps, is what we read into other people, into writing. Jack never knew Howard. Never spoke to the man, has no idea who he is. I was the only person who saw the resemblance. In this way, you can say, Jack doesn't exist to me anymore, just Howard. Just that night. Sometimes, that's the worst cruelty of the whole last six months. Realizing that, and realizing I still love MOrpheus.
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