We saw a movie about the Vietnam War and went back to his rented house for a beer. He stood there in front of us, wielding an imaginary door like an oversize shield. Henry went to bed, and, punchy from his performance, the cute, quirky guy and I started kissing. I dated him, Craig, for the rest of the school year. Our whole relationship played out in that rental house with Henry and their good friend Mason, who lived a few blocks away. Our university was big, but these three guys had created a tiny, cozy world within it. Mason was writing an honors thesis on Joyce, and his huge poster board of index cards on Finnegans Wake was often in the room with us.
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