As I was telling Rosa about Eric and his money grabbing wife, I received a miss call from the cancer victim.
He was coughing pretty bad the other day.
You'd think he'd soften.
But no no, he just can't wait to get heavy and boot me out.
After his internet was disconnected so mine could be connected, he said, 'if you do that one more time, you'll find yourself out on the fucking street quick smart.'
It was his tone.
It had menace.
It was a tone that had served him well in life.
But one day that tone was going to abandon him.
And I suspect that time was now.
I’m off the duromine for a few days.
Miss the stuff.
But not that much.
I don't need the piles.
I don't need the hemorrhoids.
I need to maintain my weight.
Thanks, phentermine, can't deny it, you have been a fucking blast.
There will always be a dear spot in my heart for you.
Even Rosa knows that.
'But don't lose too much weight,' she says, 'you need enough behind you for a good kick or punch.'
She didn't say it that way.
Her language is far more precise.
I'm clumsy.
But she's sorting it out.
I have access to her again.
