Norfleet had a flair for the dramatic.
One time, I remember, we were at somebody's house with a bunch of people. I was playing cards with a guy and Norfleet was kibitzing. When it was the guy's turn to deal, he started fumbling around and acting stupid, and finally he spilled the cards on the floor. We had to wait while he picked them up. Later on, Norfleet took me to one side and said, "Please, please don't ever do that to me. I'm not psychologically secure enough for you to do that to me. Promise you won't ever do that to me, ever." I said, "What did I do?" And he said, "It was that look! Please don't ever look at me like that!" I said, "I only have one look." We argued for a while about how many looks I had, and then he got down on his knees and clasped his hands and said, "Please promise you won't ever do that to me!"
I remember one other time, when we sat and talked quietly one night, in Norfleet's car, outside the Sweet Shop, while Andrea Horsnell looked on.
I have no idea what happened to him. I guess I saw him as the kind of guy who would leave town and never look back.
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When I think about us, sitting in that car, illuminated by one bare bulb, high up on the side of the Sweet Shop building, I imagine something by Edward Hopper - in my mind's eye, the car, a coupe roadster, is bright yellow, with the three of us discernable inside, but unrecognizable, since we're in the dark.
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