Bright Orange for the Shroud Arthur fell back into my life on that Tuesday afternoon. Acquaintance rather than friend. The dividing line is communication, I think. A friend is someone to whom you can say any jackass thing that enters your mind. With acquaintances, you are forever aware of their slightly unreal image of you, and to keep them content, you edit yourself to fit.
Many marriages are between acquaintances.
You can be with a person for three hours of your life and have a friend. Another one will remain an acquaintance for thirty years. The psychiatrists call it a sickness. The cops call it a hell of a problem. The sociologists call it a product of our culture, our puritanical tendancy to consider sex a delicious nastiness.