A chance encounter introduces a young man named Barack Obama, who insists on connecting the narrator with someone named Jeffrey. The narrator is eager for the introduction but soon finds the relationship with Jeffrey to be miserable over the next two decades. There is no common ground between them, and the narrator struggles to engage meaningfully, often lost in thoughts of unrelated topics like William McKinley and tariffs. The narrator reflects on the oddity of their friendship and questioning its authenticity.
I looked at my watch. It was 1987. 'A man with whom you have nothing in common,' the mysterious figure went on. 'His name is Jeffrey.'
Thus began almost two decades of association that were nothing but miserable for me. I don't know if you have any friends with whom you have nothing in common, but that was how it was with me and this guy.
You know that's right! 'You're a pal,' Jeffrey would tell me. I wondered if I really was a pal.
I spent so little time understanding what he had to say, and so much time lost in my own world, thinking about William McKinley and wondering what tariffs were.
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