After not speaking with Alaska for almost four months, we ended up on the phone. I told him I almost interviewed for a job in DC. He told me he was possibly pulling out of an upcoming marathon. We both agreed the new Feist album was too brilliant to describe with words.
"I miss your breasts," he then said, his voice soft like a caress.
"You miss my breath?" I asked.
"No, your breasts."
"Oh, because I thought you said 'breath' and for the life of me I just couldn't understand how that was a trait anyone could miss."
"Right, thanks. But, man, you'd have to be one fucked up person to miss someone's breath."