Your Ex Lover is Dead

This is hilarious, but if successful, what have we for brunch fodder?

Last week, within hours of a message to a third party about my business trip, I start getting texts from the ex. Not The Ex, who now takes it upon himself to recommend esoteric psychological cinema from time to time, but the ex we affectionately call Fruitbasket. When we broke up he stalked me by produce, somehow getting into my apartment building and leaving strange notes of affection with strawberry clamshells and significant portions of watermelon. It ended up being made into a jug of sangria, he was not invited to the party. Realistically, I understand this, love makes people crazy -- and when the person loves you back, crazy is a beautiful thing.

I have this policy, no matter how crazy it was, and how much a reflection of my binge drinking in college they may represent, of staying friends. Of all the exes, I'm only not friends with the first.

Who incidentally walked into the restaurant where I was having lunch yesterday.

I knew it would happen, at some point, as he co-opted my personality when we broke up. He mocked me for my love of Miles Davis, vegetarian food, punk aesthetic and indie rock when we were together... to immediately steal everything I'd introduced him to and pretend like it was his about six months after we parted. Interestingly, he has not evolved very far with it so he retains the same interests I had about half a decade ago.

"Hey, wow, um, what are the odds?" he said. Maybe he doesn't know I've been living in this city and eating at this restaurant for five months.
"Hey."
"How are you?"
"Good, really good."

And then he walked by and that was that. I considered whether I should stop by his table on the way out but decided against it.

I'm not sorry there's nothing to say...