flake raze he was always late for everything. but he told good stories when he showed up. i thought he did, anyway, until the last time i saw him. all he did was try to one-up everything i said. he noticed i'd lost weight. he felt a need to tell me all about how he used to walk more miles than me, and how he shed more pounds than i did, before he gained them all back along with forty or fifty more. i guess when you know you're a flake, it makes sense that everything would become a competition. at least you can tell yourself there's one party you're always on time for, even if you're the only guest who's been invited. 221018 what's it to you? who go blather from