“Hey,” I said.
“Nice to meet you,” he seemed a bit wary.
“Don’t worry,” I said waving my hand in his direction, “I’m very well trained; I’ll get tazered if I bite.”
“It’s not that…though that is good to know. You just seem very familiar. Have we met?”
“…Well, maybe, we are moving back here. We moved away eight years ago, my dad got relocated.”
“That explains a lot! Remember way back when I threw your lunchbox into the boys’ restroom and you tackled me and made me get it back?”
“You’re that Marco?”
“The one and only,” he said, bowing.
Your name is Bro Strider. And you must say...
Not that you can help any of that. Really, it's already happening, why bother fighting it? But you think you should be allowed to complain. At least about how incredibly unironic this is going to be.