Where Everybody Knows Your Name.
I am sharing a cigarette in a world-weary-student-with-the-weight-of-the-world-on-his-shoulders-goodness-me-it's-a-hard-life-all-this-studying-cultural-theory-AND-'real'-books-at-the-same-time manner with Best Friend. (He remained Best Friend even after drunkenly informing me that if he absolutely had to fuck a man, I would be his first choice. We pretended he hadn't said anything.)
Best Friend: You know 'Cheers'?
BF: You know the song at the start?
Me: Has a sort of world-weary charm but is otherwise shit.
BF: Yeah. But. That bit. 'Sometimes you want to go where everyone knows your name'?
BF: Fuck me can you think of anything worse?
BF: Honestly. Where EVERYONE knows you.
I think for a bit, and try to ignore the fact that Best Friend always leaves an unneccesaryly large amount of saliva on the cigarette-butt when he hands it back to me.
I love the city we live in. And the best thing is that, it being a city, you can conduct your day unmolested by people you vaguely know asking after 'Dave' when you have no idea who 'Dave' is. Anonymity is a powerful friend. He's quite right. EVERYBODY knowing you is DREADFUL.
BF: Like Sartre said-
Me: Oh for FUCK'S SAKE.
BF: 'Hell is other people.'
Me: Why am I even mates with you?
BF: Christ. We are SUCH students.
Me: I know. Lets get out of here and hang about in absurdly rough pubs.
BF: Ok. Look, that thing I said the other night-
Me: Rough pub. Now. And let's not get almost killed this time because you insist upon quoting Kierkegaard to strangers. Christ. I wish I'd learnt a trade.