Okay, VT, here’s the thing …
We did move to the Big Apple for reasons other than its incredibly crispy and delicious, vegan-friendly logo. We (that is: Mom, Dad, Hud, Mad, and me) had to emigrate, if we wanted any chance of becoming more human-y-er (um, is that a word?)
We think, so far, we’re doing a pretty good job.
That is, until I meet guys like you.
Back in June, the second I saw you at the Marriot Hotel convention hall in D.C., my heart took off like a short-distance sprinter. True confession: I spent the whole rest of the afternoon hiding under the bed in the hotel room (well, I was sharing it with three other girls, there weren’t many other privacy options), and I was totally overwhelmed with the information. Which I can distill down to this sentence:
OH MY GOD, THERE ARE MORE OF US.
Of course, I mean, I’m not an idiot, I knew we weren’t alone in the breed, but it was the proximity, and the kind of dazzling unexpectedness of you – I guess I died a little, that day.
Which brings me to my next question … how alive are you? We Livingstones are in a tentative state -- something between what we’ve been (that is, the way we've existed for a long time … longer than I’d care to admit in this note) and what we want to be. Which is ... just like everyone else, I guess. As in, people. As in, mortals.
Vlad, I’m sorry this note is so cryptic. I’m on more solid ground when I am the ask-er, not the divulge-er. So, on that … do you sleep? Do you feed? Do you long to be less hybrid, more pure state? Do you feel alone? And, uh, do you know more of us?
Any answer will do …
In other news, not much. It’s slooowed down at the restaurant, and I’m trying to learn to play Peter and the Wolf on my clarinet, before my pal Pete’s birthday. Nerd-tastic, I know ...
Chat soon … ciao! Lex