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Really that night I have to say I’d expected nothing. I hadn’t even wanted to go. Nothing was tiring; it’s what I’d grown accustomed to while living back in Lubbock.  Now when I say nothing, in this context I mean nothing in the sense that I’d learned not to expect anything - anything in the form of an engaging conversation, interesting people, anyone worth taking the time to get to know within the general populous. Not that they weren’t there, those in Lubbock, I just hadn’t met any. For the most part, the people I’d met during this period remained as empty as the landscape – dusty, barren, dead most of the year.  So, I’d reverted back to the familiar. Lubbock became a place I stayed only so long as my job held me there, driving or sometimes flying to Austin, to Dallas, New York, Boston, Los Angeles, often for five days at a time. I’d lived in enough various locations to recognize now, I just didn’t fit there; nothing wrong with Lubbock, nothing wrong with me, nothing personal, just a bad match. The next time we met, He came to visit me there, in Lubbock, Texas. I think it was the only time I ever felt at home in my house.