The last time I saw my brother, Rob he was sitting at a table, at a bar, on the lower east side of Manhattan, with his friends, a lot of Irish beer, and plans to catch a 5:45 a.m. train back to D.C. where he lives. It was midnight. His train was leaving in less than six hours. He was supposedly due money upon his safe arrival to D.C. that morning. This was Friday, a week ago. I left the bar with three questions: would he make his train, would he convince anyone to go with him, and would he win this bet money.
I thought it was a little strange when Rob didn't comment on last week's blog post about him, respond to my Twitter shout out, call, or text on Saturday. Then Sunday went by. And then Monday. Feeling a bit like my mom, I called her.
"Has anyone actually heard from Rob? I mean, he did get back to D.C. Right?"
Mom hadn't heard from him.
So on Tuesday she sent Rob an are you alive? e-mail, and not for the first time. He was alive.
And here's what happened:
He did get on the train on time. Of course, I knew he would all along...
Two of his friends went with him.
All three of them got off at the D.C. station. But Rob's phone did not.
He didn't get paid the bet money. But his friends did support the party. And if I could bet my money on something, I'd say it was probably a pretty good party.
Rob will back in NYC next weekend.
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