Yesterdays Gone: SEASON TWO (THE POST-APOCALYPTIC SERIAL THRILLER) (Yesterday's Gone)

it were snowing.
    Will thought back on how they’d met, five years earlier at one of those gaudy chain stores, no less. They met in the poetry section. Will noticed Sam staring blankly at the neat rows of books for more than five minutes, and wondered if he were checking him out. It wasn’t often Will saw anyone in the poetry section, let alone another guy, except the occasional college student trudging through a paper or looking to impress a girl.
    “Are you familiar with this stuff?” Sam asked.
    “A little,” Will said. “Looking for a gift, or something for yourself?”
    “Neither,” Sam said sheepishly, “I’m trying to impress someone.”
    “Ah,” Will said, “And is this someone a classical romantic, modern, maybe a fan of beat poetry?”
    “I have no clue,” Sam said, “He’s this cute guy I saw, and I . . . Ah, I’m just gonna come out with it. I just wanted to strike up a conversation with you.”
    Will smiled, surprised that the guy was gay, since Will had a pretty damned good gaydar, but also surprised that he was approaching Will. He seemed a bit too pretty to be attracted to a guy like Will, who was a bit too casual about his appearance.
    “I’m sorry,” Sam said, “This is so awkward. I never do stuff like this. But I saw you here last week, and I wanted an excuse to talk to you, but I’ve gotta be honest, I don’t like poetry. I’m a Lawrence Block guy. My name is Sam.”
    “Will,” Will said, shaking the man’s hand, firm but soft.
    “You into poetry?” Sam asked.
    “A bit,” Will said, “I used to have a big collection, but I moved around a lot, and don’t really feel like building the bookshelves again. So I come here on the weekends and thumb through some classics, and check out what’s new.”
    “That’s cool,” Sam said, shuffling his feet on the carpet, obviously trying to think of something to say.
    “You’re new at picking up guys?” Will said so matter-of-factly that Sam burst into laughter.
    “Is it that obvious?”
    “Well, most guys don’t dress up so nicely on a Saturday morning to hit the bookstores, unless they’re leaving their John Hancock on the first page.”
    “Was that a compliment?” Sam asked, flirting fairly well for a rookie.
    “Maybe,” Will said, smiling back. “Tell you what. How about I recommend a good poetry book, and you tell me which Block book I should buy.”
    “OK,” Sam said, as Will took his time perusing the shelf for a great first read.  
    Will could feel Sam trying not to look at him. Will would have blushed if he were a few years younger. He wasn’t a committed relationship guy, and hated to let himself get carried away with the idea of new relationships. He preferred them short and sweet. Sam seemed, even in their first exchange, serious and longterm. Will would entertain the notion, though, and see where it led. He moved closer to Sam, caught his scent — a light cologne he didn’t recognize, a bit of lavender, but not overpowering like many men wore. This scent accented Sam, not defined him. Will loved the confidence.
    “Okay,” Will said, walking toward Sam with two books in his left and one in his right. “Good things come in three,” he handed the first book to Sam, “and I figured these were good to start.”  
    Sam looked at the collection of Poe. “Really?”
    Will shook his head. “No, not really. He’s just someone you’re supposed to like. Start here instead.” He handed Sam a copy of Tarantula by Bob Dylan. “You’ll love that,” he said. “Dylan at his best. Twisting words like they were tiny tornadoes, better here than on a lot of the records. Like Guthrie and Whitman got stoned together. It’s great, I promise.”  
    Sam was wearing the widest smile Will had ever seen in a bookstore. Will held up a copy of e.e. cummings.  
    “Isn’t this another one I’m supposed to like?” Sam said.  
    “Well, yes. But because he’s great, not because your teacher told you to. Cummings is a master of metaphor and blather. He’ll have stupid, random words and phrases thrown in a poem, then suddenly make you laugh out loud with the beauty of a perfect phrase, right there in the middle of his mess. Like a rose in a war zone. Hidden meter, gorgeous imagery, comfort and inspiration. Plus, it’s sexy.”
    Sam’s smile finally stretched itself all the way into a laugh.  
    Will continued.
    “Cummings said one of my favorite things ever: ‘To be nobody but yourself in a world which