I go to the beach every year. A long time ago, I found this place, this cheap hotel where we could sit all day in Adirondack chairs, drinking beer and listening to the ocean. As time passed, my path took me further and further, geographically. On top of that, my beach became a little more, how shall we say?, high-end. Our hotel shut down and was replaced by a newer place, out of my price range. I still go back. Now I get a place that isn't on the ocean. There's no deck. The sound of the ocean doesn't come through the windows at night. This year, I've heard they privatized the beaches to those who could afford beachfront hotels and houses. The rest of us, well we're shit-out-of-luck. i'll go back one more time, out of a mix of habit, nostalgia and hope. I've done a little research and now I realize there are plenty of other beaches within my price range; beaches where my money's still good. Its so sad to be a tourist in a town you once thought was yours.
Likewise, it is very sad to be in a friendship to which the above story could serve as an allegory. Too much, sometimes, to think about. There's nothing sadder than to be treated like a guest in the home of a old friend.
Addendum, I know you meant no harm but my value lies a little higher than just being an interesting complement to beer, cigarettes and music. Peanuts are a good complement to these things, if that's what you're looking for. I am not a bag of peanuts. Ask anyone whose been paying attention.
As the great B.Dylan sang "If you, my love, must think thatta way/I'm sure your mind is a roamin'/I'm sure your thoughts are not with me/But with the country t'where you're goin'"
