When you found out that I was over at your ex-girlfriend's house, you put a jack knife in your pocket, hid a frying pan under your jean jacket, and hitchhiked to Lunenburg in order to kill me, or at least do me some serious physical harm. I had left by the time you showed up. This was probably the lowest point of our friendship. Curiously, you're one of only two people I've kept up with from my high school days. The other person never tried to kill me. She did break my heart, mind you. I'm sensing a pattern here.