Theft by Finding - David Sedaris

Again today I dug ditches in the cold rain. After work I met James at the Laundromat. He’s black
and a bit older than me, and these are a few of the things he said:
“I bet you’re sixteen years old.”
“I just like to be nice and meet new people.”
“I love all kinds of music.”
“I unwind in South Carolina.”
“Why doesn’t your wife do the laundry?”
“Aren’t you a family man?”
“Don’t you be lonely living here alone?”
“I’ve never met anyone like you.”
I gave him my phone number because he wants to cook me dinner.
January 23, 1982
Raleigh
James called last night at one. He was looking for an Amoco station and asked if I wanted to come
along for the ride. I was awake, so I said OK. He pulled up a while later in a blue car that had four
doors and was new and clean. We drove for almost an hour to all the stations he knew were closed.
Then, four blocks from my apartment, we went to one that was lit up.
It was two a.m., and when we opened the door to the inside where you pay, a camera flash went
off. They do that because of theft. Afterward James talked about prison life. He’s never been but was
stopped once for speeding by a state trooper and said it was the most terrifying experience of his life.
The Hardee’s on Edenton Street was open, so we went there and he bought a medium-size Pepsi.
We drove to Apollo Heights to look at his house, but we didn’t go in. James lives with his brother but
will soon move to Fox Ridge, a new apartment complex for middle-class black people. The rent will
be three-fourths of his monthly salary.
When James’s other brother was killed in Vietnam, the government sent someone to inform the
family. That was in 1967. His mother worked in a school cafeteria. I asked a million questions, and
he was good about answering them.
“Can I trust you?” he asked in the front seat of his car.
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” I told him.
He asked if we could be friends, and I said you shouldn’t ask things like that. It sounds too thirdgrade.
If you’re meant to be friends with someone, you’ll be friends. There’s no need to talk about it.
James asked a lot of questions a person shouldn’t ask. Back at the apartment, during sex, I thought
about a lot of different things; my new trash can, for instance, with the pedal. I was a thousand miles
away and wishing I’d never answered the phone.
February 1, 1982