Everyday, people at work asked, “Is the Old Man back yet?”
not yet,” I said. I didn’t know if he died out there, got lost or just
disappeared. After two weeks, I knew I was on borrowed time.
After signing up for OKCupid (again), I only went on one date. A guy
drove up on his motorcycle from Portland and spent an evening with me
shooting pool, playing classic rock and watching "Golden Girls" with me.
He stayed the night because we both had beer and it wasn’t safe driving
the mountain freeway back in the middle of the night. We slept on
separate couches and he said he lay awake all night, waiting for the Old
Man to return. We hugged goodbye in the morning.
Tate and some random girl came over to smoke a bowl with me after work.
We sat around and struggled to find a real conversation outside of
work. They just graduated high school and lived in Skamania all their
lives. I had just been back from around the world. We didn’t know where
to start, so we sat around in silence as my dogs nuzzled between their
legs for head pats. “Black Betty” scratchy and rough with Lead Belly’s
voice came on … then “Crystal Blue Persuasion”.
“What the hell are we listening to?” Kelly asked.
“It’s called,” I took a toke and grumbled through the smoke, “good music.”
all left after we finished the bowl. I wanted them to leave so I could
do my thing; school work, walk the dogs, think. As soon as they left, I
One night, I got the message in that Nick (my very first boyfriend from
10th grade) had a lay over in Portland. He and I have a very long and
complicated history. In recent blog posts I mentioned the Mormon boy who
was hit by a car as a child, the top part of his skull hanging off the
crown of his head just before he was put in a two week coma. His mother
insisted that while he was unconscious he was speaking the language of
angels. When he woke up, he was a genius and graduated college at 13. At
15, he was re-enrolled in high school socialize with peers his age. One
of the few classes he took was Introduction to Drama. He arrived late
the first day of class and took the seat directly behind me.
fact, I remember the room being dark because something was being
projected for us in class. I turned around and saw a preppy cut of
blonde hair flap up in the air and back down against his head as he took
his seat. His eyes almost immediately fell on me and we stared at each
other for a moment. He asked me out and we went to a matinee of “Robin
Hood: Men in Tights.” We made out and fell in love almost immediately.
Most of our dates happened in the middle of the night, when I crawled
out my bedroom window and hiked over a nearby hill to meet him at the
gravel pit behind my house. Deep canyons of gravel were dragged, ripped
and extracted from the ground. The trucks worked at night, but were far
in the distance with bright headlights and growling motors. We just
wanted to lay on a blanket somewhere and be alone. When you are 15 that
is the hardest thing to do.
We lay together in the autumn air. Our ears and noses cold. Our hands,
mouths and genitals hot. He gave me an orgasm before I even knew girls
could have orgasms. I was blindsided when a tickling sensation rose like
bubbles into spasms of intense pleasure. Though, when it happened, I
knew what it was and that it was something I had been waiting for.
knew more than anyone I ever met. And he insisted on fighting all
authority all the time. He set off fireworks outside the school dance.
He would get in trouble with the police by experimenting with
explosives. He was also the first man I told my secrets to, secrets I
didn’t know what to do with. The first man I said “I love you” to. He
introduced me to techno music and I introduced him to the Doors. The
weekend before Homecoming, with a new dress laid out on the bed fresh
from a shopping trip, he called to break up with me because I wouldn’t
convert to Mormonism.
This was followed by a year of revenge. It started with cutting up a
tomato and lathering the inside of his book bag with it. During the
pledge of allegiance, he picked it up and threw it at me. There were
letters, I wrote and wrote and wrote. I think I probably first started
honing my craft by writing break-up letters. I rode out to his house in
the middle of the night on my bike listening to the Wayne’s World
soundtrack. He rode to mine. Once, we figured out we were both at the
other one’s bedroom window at the same time. Things escalated.
started a food fight. Neither of us remember how. We chased each other
down the hallways with little condiment cups of ketchup and mustard. In
the end, I waited round the corner just before seeing his baby blue
sweat suit turn the corner and slammed him with mustard. It exploded on
impact. He chased me into the women’s restroom and we landed against the
tampon machine. We were both suspended.
He never really went back
to school after that semester. So I had to go to Mormon dances and
taunt him there. One night, I approached any girl he showed interest in
and informed them of his worst qualities. On the last girl, the last
whisper, the last jab, he turned me around and punched me in the face.
My parents filed a restraining order and Nick wasn’t allowed to ride the
school bus anymore on our route. At the police station, my Father confronted Nick and his Father in a counter complaint that I harassed
him. My Father said when Nick played my voicemail recordings as evidence
(a small collection of songs I invented and fake orgasms) the police
I stopped thinking about Nick when I met my next
boyfriend, who I would stay with for three years. But Nick reappeared
and hit on me when I was 17. We kissed but even now I feel guilty for
cheating on my boyfriend. That high school boyfriend of three years, who
I am reluctant to give a name in this blog for some reason, was one of
the best men I would love in my life. Jay. There, I said his name. That
is another love story.
After that, Nick was arrested for a bomb threat at the local high
school. He spent 6 months in jail and sent me a letter or two from
there. Later, he had other legal problems he asked me not to mention in
this blog. From there, my knowledge of him gets fuzzy. He bought land in
Hawaii. On a layover in 2006, he spent the night and we had sex for the
first time. It was awful. He was dirty talking and sweaty. Nick was now
counter intuitive, the opposite of who he was at 15. And I didn't know
how to handle it other than shutting down with a pint of soy ice cream
and watching "The Soup".
We friended on MySpace, then on Facebook.
Occasionally I would get a text from him, once every few months or once
a year. On this lonely night in Skamania, I saw he had a layover in
Portland, so I got in my car and I drove down to a La Quinta to see him …
almost 20 years after we dated.
Some people get nervous and worry about how they look, who they are,
what they accomplished. I don’t worry about those things with Nick. We
always were and will always be, whatever it was still is.
on the phone I did say, “By the way, I have a little bit of a pot belly
now?” I was calling it my Summer 2012 beer belly. It was minimal but I
was keeping it because I didn’t feel fat in Skamania and, to be honest, I
kind of liked it.
“How big of a pot belly?” he said seriously. “Jesus, you men take weight so seriously,” I said laughing.
parked in the lot and met him in the lobby. He still had blonde hair,
was sunburnt and wearing long Hawaiian shorts. We saw each other and
collapsed into each other’s arms laughing. “Hey, are you hungry? I have
those coupons from the airline. I can buy you dinner, if it’s under
“I’m not hungry but we can go somewhere and get you something to eat,” I said.
let me get my brother and his wife,” he said. I knew they were on this
layover with him, but I was hoping I would be alone with him. His
family, I assumed, hated me for all the drama back in high school. His
brother’s family lived with Nick on the island. They bought land
together and had lived there for a while now, almost eight years. When I
met his little brother, now taller than me with the slightest evidence
of age around his eyes, I searched him for resentment. He looked like
nothing I remembered of the little Mormon boy in the 90s. His wife was
also hard to read. I think they were both just tired and didn’t know
what to expect from me. We all walked over to the Shari’s.
I ordered a black cup of coffee while everyone else had full meals and
milkshakes. Nick and I revisited all the memories of high school, the
food fights, the prank calls, the total misery we put each other through
because we thought we couldn’t be together. It’s funny, with all of
Nick’s resistance to authority, he let our relationship go under the
pressure of authority. Now, when we spoke about it, we giggled.
“Wait, I thought you two hated each other,” his brother said.
“No, the opposite,” I said.
“Riding to each other's houses in the middle of the night .. even the food fight was-” in unison we said, "romantic."
me ask you a question,” his brother said, “When you and Nick were at
that Mormon dance that one night, what do you think happened?”
“He turned me around by the shoulder and socked me in the face.” I said.
laughed. “Cause, Nick always kept trying to convince mom that you
slipped and hit your face on his hand,” he said. I wasn’t laughing
anymore, that bothered me. I took a punch to the face and I took it
standing. I had a black eye for an entire week afterward.
There was a shift on conversation and the “Butter Fingers” story was
mentioned. “That isn’t a story for the dinner table,” his brother said. I
asked to hear it and Nick waved it on when it was clear that we
couldn’t go around the story in conversation, we just had to go through
it. His sister-in-law started the story as Nick smiled at her, mouth
agape, anticipating each beat to his own story out of someone else’s
mouth. I also got the sense that Nick had a crush on his sister-in-law
who he sometimes called his “wife-in-law”.
“So when Nick served
those 6 months in jail, he got kitchen duty, which I guess was a real
privilege. But after you work the kitchen shift, you have to be searched
before going back out to the general population … you know for knives
and things. Well, (she gave a breathy laugh), they told him they do
cavity searches and that it really hurt when the guards went in …,” she
“Dry,” I filled in.
“Yeah,” she continued, “dry. So they told him to put some butter around and inside to make the search more comfortable and …”
“I did it,” he said, smiling. “I thought that sounded legitimate so I did it.”
“Do they do cavity searches like that in jail?” I asked. His sister-in-law shook her head laughing.
“The guards checked his pants, saw it and-” she tried to continue. “And they said, ‘What the hell is this?’” Nick finished.
from then on, the other inmates called him ‘Butter Fingers’,” she said.
I laughed. It was comfortable sitting with them, especially with her. I
liked her. She was a mom but still young and intelligent.
“In Hawaii, I just can’t stand how they treat their kids. They aren’t
educated, they curse a lot, there is no responsibility. And the school
system is terrible. Kids are walking around without shoes. I just don’t
want that to rub off on my kids so … we are coming back,” she said. They
were moving back to Oregon to start over. It seems like everyone was
starting over lately.
“Nick is really a good guy, he just doesn’t
have a filter and he says things he shouldn’t. Most women can’t deal
with it. He needs someone who can get through that part of him. Someone
strong,” she said. It was clear from the beginning, everyone was
wondering if I was the perfect candidate.
When we got up to pay
the bill, Nick saw the tattoo on my lower back. A purple sacred heart.
"You're heart is in the wrong place,” he said.
“That’s clever. No one has said that to me before,” I smiled.
When we walked out, I patted my stomach, “You see the Summer 2012 Beer Belly?”
nothing a small jog couldn’t take care of,” he said. He was sore and
sunburned from working the Oregon State Fair as a clown. Oh, did I tell
you he is a professional clown? Yeah.
Back at the hotel, we all got in the hot tub. I couldn’t find my bikini
in my parents’ frantic packing job so I went in with a bra and panties.
asked his sister-in-law about a tattoo on her wrist and she said it was
from surviving abdominal adhesions. “I lost an ovary, my uterus and
half of my bladder from it.”
I looked at her body and thought
about everything she was missing inside of her. She was my age and had
seemingly half the organs. “I am sorry, what happened? I don’t
“When you have a C-section and it isn’t done totally
right, they can leave scarring tissue that grows into adhesions. They
are like fibrous bands of scar tissue that grow between internal organs
and your tissue. Nothing grows back right, it starts growing together
and pulling on everything internally. Once you have had one C-section,
that is all you can have from that point forward.”
“No vaginal births,” I said.
And the second time I had a C-section, the adhesions got worse. They
grew up and around my organs. It hurt, I mean, it really hurt. In
Hawaii, they kept telling me I was fine, and there was nothing to worry
about. Then when the pain got unbearable, they would remove something.
They took out almost everything trying to cut out the adhesions. They
took out everything but a vital organ. What was next? If they took out
anymore I would be dead. The doctors kept telling me this condition
wouldn't hurt, but every time you eat, have a bowel movement or even
turn, you are straining those organs and it hurt. I couldn't have sex
for a year. They knew that and did this ultrasound on me vaginally to
see what was wrong. It hurt. And I told them it hurt, but they kept
telling me it shouldn't hurt. I was treated like I was fishing for
drugs, all the while this disease was straining my organs. So I went to
Germany to see a specialist for $12,000. It was three surgeries and the
third one was free. Still half the price of what it was to see an
American doctor who didn't take the condition seriously. And now I am
good. I have a friend going through the exact same thing and I gave her
the number to Germany. Our country isn’t as evolved as it should be."
didn’t even know this existed,” I said. I studied her tattoos, some on
her feet, some on her hands. She was quite pretty and was shaking off
the scales of a tired mommy in sweatpants. As she laid next to me in her
bikini, I thought this slinky girl in glasses still had life in her.
couple said goodnight, and I retired into Nick’s hotel room. He chatted
with his father who requested a picture of the two of us together.
Probably because it was hard to believe. It was late at night or very
early in the morning. I laid on his bed exhausted from work, from
walking the dogs, from worrying about an old man coming home any day to
kick me out. Here, on a queen sized bed in a generic room far away I was
safe from it all. No one knew where I was and nothing was expected from
me. I just had to worry about falling asleep. Above all else, I didn’t
want to fall asleep.
sat next to me and leaned up against my legs. My arm was over my head
as I occasionally played with my eyebrows, a bad habit I have when I
think too much.
"You remind me of all the boyfriends I have had
since, it’s weird," I said. Nick sat at the computer and rambled like
Abe. His boyish features and hair were the same color as Huck’s. The sun
burn and flip flops reminded me of my ex-husband. The crazy, the
passion and unintelligible genius reminded me of Eric.
“I feel the
same way,” he said. He told me about losing his virginity to another
childhood love when he was 18. The story was melancholy. “She lied to me
about being a virgin and she lied to me about other guys. Men were
coming to her door while I was there visiting her, reminding me of where
I stood.” He kept staring up at the ceiling. I suddenly felt a wave of
jealousy. “Whatever we had was special. Whatever bond it is. I know we
didn't lose our virginity together but it feels like we did,” he said.
All of a sudden he was deep and clear. Around his brother and
sister-in-law he was amped up and goofy. Alone he was calm and
“I know, I feel that way too,” I said.
had to have sex back in 2006 to bridge the gap, to fill that void, even
if it wasn't very good. We had to complete it to step out of that state
of wonder. But now enough time has passed that we are back at that state
of wonder and getting to know each other all over again,” he said. I
smiled. He was familiar in an odd way. His face filled out but he was
still the same kid, struggling to make all of us stupid people
understand amazing things, while we tried to make him understand regular
boring things like etiquette and conversation skills.
to talk out loud. That is something I got from you. You would say
everything you thought out loud and make it funny,” he said.
“I did that when I was 15?” I asked.
That is one of the things I liked best about you. At least you don't do
that oKay thing anymore, when you wanted to make fun of people,” he
“I don’t remember saying oKay.”
“I remember,” he said,
quietly, smiling. “I remember how quiet you were, you barely spoke
until I kissed you. Then you just opened up.”
smiled and crawled over to his bed and nuzzled him. It was nice
cuddling with someone familiar. He kept apologizing for touching me, but
I wanted to be touched. I wanted to be held by someone that knew me and
loved me. I wanted to feel warm and safe and ok, just for a night. I
brushed my nose against his neck until he kissed me.
“You have two
kisses, the soft, passionate kiss and the brief, peck like this (he
pecked me). . . I can feel the hard shape of your upper lip. It comes
out and kisses me before the rest of your mouth. That is the same,” he
“And your mouth is the same. I thought the braces
forced your upper lip to pucker like that, but I guess it’s just the way
your mouth is,” I traced his lips. We made out until he pulled my pants
“I don’t think you would want to be with me if you knew
what type of year I have had. You wouldn’t approve of my sexual
history,” I said.
He ripped off my pants, “You wouldn’t approve of my sexual history.” He crawled on top of me and disrobed.
need to get a condom. Seriously,” I said. I didn’t explain why because
anytime I do men just shrug it off and penetrate me bare. I didn’t want
to give him a disease. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. Though I
had no symptoms, no cause for concern, I have seen enough Made-for-TV
movies to keep me on edge. Did you see that one with Molly Ringwald? She
got HIV after only 6 partners. He got up and walked to his backpack.
“Oh look, the condoms are with the beef jerky, how appropriate,” he
He entered me and it felt good. Anytime you make love to
someone for the first time (in a long time) there is a guard up. You
can’t melt in his arms the first time, you try to hold yourself up and
let go at the same time. “Remember the gravel pit, how we made a little
spot and were on top of each other like this ... we would look at the
stars, well, we didn't have stars. Light pollution,” he said. I laughed.
Then I came.
When we finished, we held each other with the light gloss of sweat on top of us and the heavier swamp of wet sheets beneath us.
tell me about the ghosts in your house, they … played on your spinal
cord like a xylophone?” I asked. Yes, the above inquiry of Hawaiian
ghosts playing on Nick’s spinal cord like a xylophone was briefly
mentioned at dinner. Nick brought it up, as if it passing and I said,
“Like a xylophone?” turning to look at his sister-in-law. She smiled
wickedly and raised her eyebrows. Yeah. Like a xylophone.
this house on this land, right? And things started happening the more I
built on it. I could leap out of my body at night and I knew they
didn’t like that. I was having nightmares and it was getting bad. I was
telling some of the locals about it and they said, ‘Oh, you need a
healer. You got spirits.’ So they told me where to go to pick up this
healer and when I drove down to grab him, he was waiting on a corner in
rags. I mean, he looked like a homeless guy with rags just hanging off
of him. When I took him up to my house, he walked around the property
and said, ‘Oh … oh, they don’t like you.’ So for 45-minutes, he walked
around the house, would stop and say “whoa whoa whoa’ pounding this
stick with yarn and beads around it on the floor like this,” Nick
demonstrated in a low, gentle voice the rhythmic pounding of his
would stand there and talk to them, like they were right in front of
him. It was crazy but whatever it was it worked. All that time and all I
had to do was buy him a sandwich. He said, ‘You got to leave and take
care of whatever you got to take care of out there before coming back
here.’ So that’s what I did. I went back to school again and got my
degree. They are still there but they only come out once in a while,
like when I look at internet porn. I am addicted to internet porn.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” I said.
don’t know what it is, sometimes I just can’t stop myself from looking
at naked girls. But when I give in to that temptation and get stuck
staring at internet porn all day, I feel those spirits come back. To
keep them away I avoid porn altogether. It makes me a better person, I
feel better. I know it’s ok to tell you these things because the spirits
of Hawaii told me you would understand,” he said. People have said
similarly bizarre things to me.
love Hawaii, there is a magic there. The island is a spirit of its own.
When I was away, I would put on Hawaiian music and I would just feel
happy. I would feel good. Hawaii is a positive spirit, You have to come
there. You can live with me in my house,” he said.
“I am sorry, I
have to step out for a cigarette,” I said. I was back to smoking. My
brain was getting crammed listening to everything he said. I wonder how
normal people deal with all the information someone like Nick deals out
on an average day. It made my head hurt with new ideas and fantastic
stories. It was information overload. Sneaking out the back exit, I made
it to my car and sat on the back steps nursing a Spirit. I didn’t have
any underwear on and wondered if we would have time to make love a
second time before I headed back. I was back to work in the morning. The
sky was changing color.
I walked back into the lobby and ran into Nick on the way out. “I thought I would come and join you,” he said.
“That’s alright. I am done.”
“No, I thought I would like to try one. Just out of curiosity,” he said.
So I took him back and he insisted we split a cigarette.
crazy about salvia is when you take it, the whole world changes. Like,
we are looking from this perspective at this white truck. On Salvia, you
are thrown out of that perspective entirely and see what the other side
of that white truck looks like without moving. It is crazy. Salvia is
an acronym. People don’t know that, it comes from one plant people found
and bred a long time ago,” he said while holding my burning cigarette.
He maybe took two puffs, and any time I tried to grab it he pulled back
as if to take another drag but let it burn down.
are six levels to salvia. Level 1 is ‘subtle’- just a chill, mellow
high. Level 2 is ‘altered’. ‘A’ altered. See? Then you start
hallucinating, your perception is warped. Level 3 is ‘Light’, you can
stare at something, you know how you can stare at wood or carpet or
walls and it looks like it is moving?” I nodded. “That. Then ‘V’ for
‘visionary state’ you start tripping hard. On Level 5, ‘I’ ‘intense’ you
can actually leave your body. Yeah? It’s crazy. You can actually leave
your body and walk around. Then Amnesic, the last stage. You black out.
No one knows what happens then because … well, you are blacked out.”
My cigarette was out now. “Oh sorry, I just held it and kept talking, huh?” he said.
“That’s alright, I shouldn’t be smoking anyway.”
walked back into the lobby giggling. He made me laugh, and I put my arm
through his. The graveyard shift consisted of two men, one old and one
young, at the front desk. Their moods soured as the night went on.
Having us trip over each other into the lobby didn’t amuse them at 3am.
“Sorry,” I said, laughing.
“We are just really happy, guess why?” he said.
I slapped his hand. “Don’t tell them that. It lacks a kind of
respect.” He acted dumbfounded and led me into kitchen for complimentary
“Breakfast already?” I asked.
“Yeah, for all the
truckers who have to get going before sunrise. Ooooh! Waffles!” he
said. He quickly walked over to the iron press and poured the batter in.
I reminded him to spray that stuff on the toaster so it didn’t stick.
right. The oxidizing chemical reaction on an iron surface makes
magnetite,” he said. I looked around for the two people at the front
desk and was suddenly paranoid they hated us for being loud. “ … yes …”
“I think the people in the lobby hate us and I feel bad. We should keep it down,” I said.
are their guests. They are here to serve us. It isn't an emotional
thing. They have no relationship to us. Just enjoy yourself,” he said,
biting into his double waffles. I admired that, not that I totally agree
with it but I like it when privileged men explain how to live without
apology. In a lot of ways, I think it is the secret to happiness.
went back upstairs and I laid down on his bed and set my timer for 5am
so I would be back in time for work. I felt my head get heavy and my
contacts burn. The pillow was sucking me in and I felt my body start to
float around the sound of Nick’s voice.
“Do you know Dubstep? I
love dubstep. You haven’t heard dubstep? Let me put some on. I was
getting paid to do dubstep at the fair, but everyone just thought I was a
crazy guy dancing in a clown outfit. Dubstep made me burn 1000
calories. There are 100 calories for every real food calorie. A candle
burns 324 watts per calorie. All things considered that’s not too much. A
cinnabon is 1700 calories,” he said.
“Rub my back,” I groaned.
“Touch me.” Yes, I had sex once in a while, but what I really wanted was
to be held. The sad fact is the best part of my Skamania philandering,
my casual flings in cars and on baseball diamonds, was being held. My
heart was broken and I was homeless. All things considered, I was ok.
That doesn’t mean a girl doesn’t need to be held once in awhile. A
stranger can hold you and it will keep the pain from grinding. It will
put you in a good mood the next morning. But when someone you know holds
you, someone who you shared your body, your childhood, huge sections of
your life, you begin to grow again.
My alarm went off and I groaned. “I can’t make love to you again. I don’t have time,” I said. I rolled over.
“That’s ok. There was just too much to talk about,” he said.
got up and dressed. I was worried about my dogs. I was worried about
the Old Man being home and waiting for me, worse yet, all my things
moved outside. I grabbed my purse and heard my keys clank against my
phone. Then I looked around for anything I might be missing.
is something you leave behind in your energy. I feel it. Its not lust,
or just lust, it’s something else,” he said. I smiled and crawled across
the bed to kiss him. “Thank you.”
I left and drove home. There
was a thick fog lifting off of the Columbia river as a teal sky ripped
open to bleed out the dawn. I was still the same person I was a child,
but this time it felt good.
He sent me a text message a couple days later:
"I wanted to tell you something . . .I noticed that myself and my DNA
have been resonating a higher frequency since we met and consequently
more blood has been flowing throughout the cell membranes therefore I
have been experiencing my same life in a new special way."
man wasn’t home. I was giddy for a couple days. I thought about moving
to Hawaii. I wondered if we could make it work. I knew that I promised
myself not fall in love with the same guys after Huck. I had to
radically change the type of man I follow. No more troubled minds. No
more lost souls. No prophets who believe they are mentioned in
Revelations. No more trust fund babies who think they “aren’t meant to
work” and finds ways to complain about it. No more alcoholic poets who
promise to break my heart. No more.
It doesn’t mean I leave Nick, it just means I don’t move in.
built what he called a “writing room” for me on the house. He
investigated laws on bringing dogs over from the mainland, vaccination
requirements and fees. He wrote about where we might live and when.
I sent him this message:
take it slow, sweet heart. Please. I like your house a lot. I like
everything about it. I don't know that my lifestyle is child friendly. I
like my hallucinogenics and my adventures. I like not living anywhere
permanently. I love writing and living for the moment.
Even if we
don't end up together, I love knowing someone out there cares about me,
and wants me. That said, we still don't know each other as adults and
should take our time. It takes years and friendship and trust. Right
now, I am plum out of trust. It's just this moment. I was kicked out of
my parents house and the last guy who said he wanted me to move in is
writing poems about some other girl 2 months later.
I don't mind
all that much. I like flirting. I like not knowing what tomorrow will be
like. I like the idea of living in a small, eco-friendly,
self-sustaining house on a mountain in Hawaii. I like knowing that I
will be dancing to the Rolling Stones and going through haunted houses
next month. I like that young boys and old men give me gifts at work. I
like that my dogs are happy, even when we are homeless.
There is nothing pinned down, nothing lost, nothing at stake. There is just this.”
He wrote back “<3 p="p">