"Hello, I'm Kenny."
I rummaged through my memory. "Kenny Mah," I blurted out in recognition.
The poor fellow nearly jumped out of his skin. Apparently this happens to him a lot.
He should have expected it, though.
Virtually everyone at the gathering shared a connection with Sharon. They were either commentors on Bibliobibuli, or in some way involved in the local literature/poetry scene. So it wasn't too hard to deduce that this fellow "A" is actually "A" of "B" from the "C" blog, and so on. This was a closely-knit group that would give a Freemasons' lodge a run for its money.
Never judge a person by how he opens a wine bottle.
When I first met him Nicholas Wong was not doing very good job. My opinion of him was fairly neutral, but he didn't impress me. So when Sharon rattled off his achievements as an introduction to his turn at the microphone I was stunned. There were awards, prizes, and published works and interviews. The boy was as decorated as a knight of the Round Table.
And if that wasn't enough, Sharon told us that the veteran poet Wong Phui Nam, whom she had trouble inviting to Readings, agreed to come only if Nicholas was coming to read.
Me? I fared a lot worse. I had nearly ruined a bottle of wine. His cork extraction skills, however, has since improved.