No one remembers you so if they introduce themselves again, just say "it's nice to meet you."
I climbed down the stairs and stuck out my hand for a little lady in a merry christmas, regular sweatshirt: "it's nice to meet you."
It took all of my courage to muster my invisibility as a pressed my shoulders against the white wall. I was in the dining hall of a smoky house era 1960, wearing a brown winter jacket and green Sorels on my feet. A strobe light illuminated the room. I was straight as an arrow, watching people in holiday garb stumble around me. I was there, by myself, haunting a house where nobody would notice me.
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