Written September 17, 2011
there in your hand is a bottle of brand-name acetaminophen: the super strength stuff for your knees, I guess. not even, not even looking at you, or even your fingers clasped 'round the little white container... just the yellow arthritis label. you're not an old man, and I am even less aged, but... all I can see right now is a means to an end. where's the vodka? so fixated on the idea that I could chase those pills with a fifth or what have we, just so that finally, I...
my dear, if I ever say a mysterious goodbye, then please know that I am headed this way.