Friday, November 30, 1990. 5:04 P.M.I allow myself to be “kidnapped” by my friends after work. Brian and Lyle are waiting for me when I step outside the restaurant, Brian standing by the open car door, holding a bottle of my favorite red with his face split in a s**t-eating grin.
“Get in,” he yells, and Lyle in the driver’s seat nods eagerly and shows me two thumbs up.
I groan and roll my eyes at them.
“Don’t argue with me, mister!” Brian leans into the car and says something to Lyle, hands him the bottle, then jogs over to me. “We haven’t seen you in ages. Lyle thinks you don’t love us anymore.” He points to Lyle, who nods and pushes out his lower lip as though they’ve rehearsed this whole thing. I roll my eyes again as Brian flings his arm round my shoulders and tugs me toward the car
