Not long ago, I experienced hostile hacking of my personal e-mail and all else. This came, within minutes, of my writing about the seemingly omnipotent power of the NSA–so visible in the news.

   That night, I was not in good form to handle this. But my friend Lee Munro grabbed my collar and talked me out of reckless paranoia. For that, I am forever in his debt. A guy who doesn’t know me from Adam reached out and gave a damn.

   We should all be so fortunate. Here’s the deal: if you lack the balls to confront me on something I’ve written, then what are you worth? Seriously, it’s easy to give anyone the shakes these days. I could do this in 10 minutes–but why? Perhaps that’s all it is; some sorry bastard from my past resentful that I’m still around and writing about what matters to me. I do not, can not, know. Yet Lee was there, rescuing me from near-certain emotional implosion. My long-gone mother (born in Cornwall) would be glad somebody took my fears and used them to empower me–I sure am.

So, a little tweak here to you, Sir or Madam, who apparently have nothing better to do with your so-called life. It worked, though. You scared me. Good for you. How hard can that be, when you lack the ability (well, maybe you don’t) to climb my porch steps and look me in the eye? I’d love to meet you, and hash out our obvious disagreement. A simple e-mail might resolve this–but I doubt it. Because you lack the courage to honestly approach me and take me to task. I’m here for you. I need to know what I wrote that so troubled your organized dullness.

Should you ever decide to pursue this personal path, at least have the common human decency to let me know you’re on your way. I’ll make coffee (Lee would, because he’s everything you are not). Mission accomplished. You frightened me. But there’s more to me than that. True, not much–but it’s there. I welcome open discussion of whatever I wrote that so inflamed your petty sensibilities. At least I have the stones to invite you to coffee and–if you drop the gun–perhaps a home-cooked meal. As you undoubtedly know, there are two things I can do in this world: Write, and cook.

Who knows? Maybe after a few drinks you’ll understand why The Night Run means so much to me. I doubt it, but there you go, my very shy friend. Give me the chance you nearly ruined by choosing the coward’s path. It’s very, very simple. You have a problem with me? Well then, I’m here for you. Tell me why. Maybe I WAS wrong about something. A tad too cold and abstract for your obvious take and dark wisdom.

Give it your best. I’m always here for you.


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