The Best Part of the Song

They were running late for their road trip. It didn’t really matter whose fault it was. It was his. It was always his.

“Just for the record, we are late and it’s totally not my fault, yet again.” She said to him.

“Are you keeping count?” He asked.

“Nope, just making an observation. Let me make sure we have everything. Hydration? Check. Road Chips? Check.”

“What are road chips?”

“Chips you eat while on the road, duh.”

“Of course, how could I not know that?”

“Probably because you’re always late. Okay, I’m in charge of the music.”

“What? No, the driver is always in charge of the music.”

“Really? Since when?”

“Since forever. You’ve never seen that bumper sticker?”

“What bumper sticker?”

“Driver picks the music, Shotgun shuts their cake hole.”

“That’s a stupid bumper sticker.”

“I didn’t make the sticker nor the rules, little miss missy.”

“You’re just enforcing them?”

“Damn Skippy.”

“Hey speaking of bumper stickers, look.”

“Look at what?”

“That car in front of us.”

“What about it?”

“They’re from the same town as you are, Bogota.”

“What? How can you tell that?”

“They got a little sticker in the back of their car of the Bogota High School mascot, the Buccaneer.”


“You told me that the mascot for Bogota was a buccaneer. That’s a buccaneer right there.”

“Ummmm, I hate to break this to you, but…”

“But, what?”

“That’s a sticker for Seton Hall.”

“It is?”

“Yes, that’s the Seton Hall Pirates.”

“Hmmmm. Looks like a bucanner to me. What’s the difference between a pirate and a buccaneer anyways?”

“I have no clue.”

“Google to the rescue!”

“How about we pick out some music and identify the best part of the song instead?”

“Best part?”

“Sure, it will be a fun little road trip game. We’ll listen to a song and then afterwards we will both guess as to what the best part was.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“What, that there’s the best part of every song or it will be a fun road trip game?”

“A little of both actually.”

“I’m telling you every single good song has a best part to it.”

“Every single song?”

“No, not every single song. Every single good song.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Well, if it’s a bad song, it won’t be able to have a best part.”

“I see. So can you name the best part of any good song?”

“Of course.”

“Cool. Let me see your phone.”


“We’re going to play your game and I’m going to test you.”

“There’s no music on my phone.”

“What? That’s impossible. Everyone has music on their phone.”

“Not me.”

“Why not?”

“I use my iPod.”


“Seriously, what?”

“Seriously Grandpa.”

“Okay, okay. I get it. I’m old.”

“I’m just messing with you. Give me the iPod, Grandpa.”

“I’ll tell you this, the iPod has never failed me. It has everything you can imagine – including but not limited to stuff from back in my pirate days.”

“Don’t you mean your buccaneer days? Let me see if I can even figure out how to work this thing.”

“Just hit the button and used the click wheel.”

“Got it. Okay, first up: AC/DC – Long Way to the Top.” 

“That’s an easy slam dunk.”

“Oh, is it now?”

“Sure, everyone knows that it’s the bagpipes.”


“Everyone who’s heard the song.”

“Okay, okay, next up: Anthrax – Indians.”

“Are you going alphabetically?”

“It just makes a whole lot of sense to me. I mean they’re right there all in a row. So what’s the best part of this one?”

“When he goes like this, he goes, WARDANCE!” He screams.

“How doe he go?”

WARDANCE!” He screams again.

She looks at him and can’t help herself but to laugh.

“You’re mocking me.”

“You make it so easy.”

“Okay, okay. What’s next?”

“Bob Dylan, really? You have Bob Dylan on this thing?”

“Sure, I love Bob Dylan. Who doesn’t?”

“Ummm, me.”

“Really, why? What did he ever do to you?

“To me nothing, but to my dad…”

“What? Your dad knows Bob Dylan? Why am I only hearing about this now?”

“I don’t know. I guess it just never came up.”

“What could Bob Dylan have possibly done to raise your father’s ire?”

“He borrowed $20 from him and never gave it back.”

“What? You’re making this up”

“Nopes, totally not making this up. They were living in the city. He wasn’t big and famous yet and he asked my father for $20. My father gave it to him and never got a penny in return.”

“That seems a little hard to believe.”

“What’s so hard to believe? Bob Dylan is a mooch.”

“I’m sorry but I don’t believe it. It just seems very unlikely.”

“You calling my father a liar?”

“No, I’m just saying he’s probably not remembering it right.”

She looks at him and musters up her best Al Pacino impression. “Fredo, you’re my brother and I love you, but don’t ever take sides against the family again.”

“Okay, weirdo. Next song?”


“Whoa what?”

“You have Hall and Oates on here?”

“Of course. My musical tastes are ecclectic.”

“I see. Okay, Hall & Oates – Private Eyes.”

“You’re picking all the easy ones.”

“I am? Well what’s the best part then?”

“It’s the clapping. Any song that has clapping in it automatically makes that the best part of the song.”

“Well there you go. You really do learn something new every day. Who woulda thunk you’re a big fan of clapping.”

“Go deeper into the pod for the next one?”

“Since for some reason you are set against me going alphabetically, let’s spin the wheel – no whammies, no whammies, no whammies, stop!”

“Pulling out a Press Your Luck reference and you call me old?”

“Ha ha ha.” She said sardonically.

“Okay what did you come up with?”

“The White Stripes – Black Math.”


“Seriously, what?”

“That’s another easy one. It’s when Jack White goes like this, he goes, Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah.”

“Wait, how does he go?”

“Nope, you’re not going to get me to do it again.”

“I thought I could, sometimes you make it too easy.”

“Give me another one.”

“Okay, here’s a good one, Pearl Jam’s Jeremy.”

“That’s a toss-up.”

“Did I stump you?”

“Not yet, I’m narrowing it down but I think I got it.”

“Okay, what is it?”

“The Oooo Ooooo’s.”

“I’m sorry, did you just say the Oooo Ooooo’s?”

“Yeah, at the end of the song. The Oooo Ooooo’s”

“This game is boring me. I just want to listen to real music and eat chips.”

“In all faireness, we were supposed to listen to the song and then discuss.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Can I turn on the radio?”

“Sure, I’m not an animal?”


“Sam Malone.”


“Sam Malone. The TV show, Cheers? Don’t tell me you’ve never seen it?”

“A little before my time, Grandpa.”

“Seriously, you’re only 5 years younger than me.”

“Okay, cradle robber.”


“Dude, I’m totallhy messing with you again, of course I know Sam Malone. I just don’t get the reference.”

“There was an episode where he’s describing how he’s about to have sex with someone.”

“Oooooooooooo babu! Sounds steamy.”

“As steamy as NBC could be back then, I guess. He’s telling this story and says, I’m folding up my socks and Carla asks you fold up your socks before sex? and Sam replies, Sure… I’m not an animal.”

She just looks at him blankly.



“We’ll watch it tonight and you’ll laugh.”

“Challenge accepted, but now it’s radio time.” She tunes the satellite radio in the car to the Alt Nation channel and catches Riptide by Vance Joy playing. He’s about to say something to her when she interrupt him.

“Wait, wait, waaaaaaaaaaait.”


“Ssssshhhhhhhhh. This is the best part of the song.”

The End

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Coming soon in The Year of the Dog

Coming soon…

The Best Part of the Song

Bubba’s Birthday

The Running Girl

An Interview with the Zombie

Rabbit’s Foot


Awkward Encounter

How to Make Balloon Animals without Balloons

Wasted Wishful Thinking


and many, many more









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Drunken Laundry



He loaded up his laundry bag with dirty clothes. He went through his quick mental checklist:


Laundry detergent – Running low but… Check

                  Fabric Softener – Check

                  Quarters – Check

                  Beer – Check


He was all set to go downstairs to the laundry room of his apartment building when a text came in from his friend.


– Hang 2nite? Nu bar opened Shud b gud

                  – Can’t 2nite

                  – Y not?

                  – Laundry nite

                  – U gotta B kidding???

                  – Nope

                  – This is worse than ur excuse two weeks ago

                  – Wut excuse?

                  – U said it wuz garbage nite

                  – It was                 

                  – Lame

                  – I got a nu cool way 2 do laundry

                  – ???


He looked down at his phone for a moment and contemplated texting the Laundry Game out. It would take to long to type it out. He called his friend to explain. Five rings then right to voice mail.



     – I just called you… Pick up

                  – Can’t right now

                  – Y?

                  – Dropping a deuce

                  – ???

                  – Call u wen done


He went back to gathering his laundry essentials and headed down the stairs. The laundry room had multiple duties as it was also the garbage room, the storage room, a bicycle rack, and it also held the office of the building’s superintendant.


He started to unload his laundry basket filled with clothes, detergent, fabric softener, and a 6 pack of beer when his phone rang. He checked the caller ID and saw it was his friend calling back.


“What’s up mother-fucker?” He sang in a falsetto voice.

“Yo, yo yo. What’s this cool new way of doing laundry, brother?” His friend asked.

“First things first.”


“You were taking a shit when I called?”

“Yes, why?”

“You texted back that you were dropping a deuce and that you couldn’t talk.”


“You couldn’t talk but you could text?”

“Sure, I’m not an animal.”

“Kinda gross dude.”

“You wouldn’t have known I was defecating unless I told you. Had I picked up the phone you would have heard the bathroom echo.”

“The bathroom echo?”

“Yes, no fabrics in there except a bathmat. Hence the echo.”

“But you can still text?”


“But not talk?”

“Yes… I’m not an animal.”

“Whatever dude, it’s still gross.”

“Whatever man, tell me about this new game you got going.”

“I call it Drunken Laundry.”

“How do you play?”

“Simple really, you grab a sixer of beer, more of course if you have more players and you bet on if the machine is going to fuck up or not.”

“Fuck up or not? What does that even mean?”

“Yeah the machines are real old. They jacked up the prices from $1.50 a wash to $2.50 a wash but never upgraded the machines, they only upgraded the prices.”

“Doesn’t seem right.”

“Totally not, but my requests have fallen on deaf ears so instead of continuing a fruitless endeavor, I’ve created a game of it.”

“Okay so how do you play?”

“You take a drink every time the machine gets stuck on the cycle.”

“On the cycle?”

“Yeah if it says rinsing which should last no more than a few minutes and is stuck on the rinsing cycle. You take a drink.”

“Seems easy enough.”

“Yup, any time machine gets stuck you take a drink,”

“I’m assuming it gets stuck a lot otherwise there would be no game.”

“Exactamundo. Then there’s the one part if the machine shuts off completely mid-cycle you have to down the whole beer.”

“Sounds like good times. How many sixers you playing with tonight?”

“I just got the one, so I’m letting certain rules slide.”

“Okay I’m in.”

“You’re in?”

“Yeah, let me go to the liquor store and I’ll be right over I think I want to play Drunken Laundry tonight.”

“You sure? I usually just play it alone. I think I’m the only one that finds true enjoyment from it.”

“Nope, I’m totally in.”

“That’s cool. Can you do me a favor before you come by?”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“I only have the one sixer here, can you get more beer, a bottle of vodka, and a lighter?”

“No problem, I get the more beer and vodka part but what’s the lighter for?”

“I’m going to take Drunken Laundry to the next level tonight.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Flaming shots.”

“Flaming shots, really?”

“Every time the laundry machines eat your change you have to take a shot.”

“Okay, I’m on my way.”

“Oh, one more thing?”

“What’s that?”

“Bring some laundry detergent.”




The End

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I drank and I slept and then I drank and slept some more.

I did it again and again.

I drank and I slept.

I mourned not the loss, but that I was broken.


To sleep is to escape.

To escape is the chance to live again.




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The Running Girl – A Sneak Preview Excerpt

She ran along the boardwalk, as she did every morning. It was her time to herself, her time to clear her head. Thoughts of the day’s agenda crossed her mind. She went through the small list in her mind: oil change, laundry, grocery shopping. She stopped going through her mental list when she saw him sitting there, outside the café, reading the newspaper. She slowed down as she approached him. Oblivious to her standing in front of him slightly out of breath, he turned the page of his paper.


“What are you doing?” She asked slightly out of breath.

He looks up from the paper and says, “Oh sorry, I didn’t see you there. I’m just reading the paper. Seeing what’s what with the world today. Out for a little run, are you?”

“You know I am.”

“Yes, I guess I do.”

“What’s your endgame here?”

“I’m sorry my what?”

“Your endgame. What do you expect?”

“I really don’t understand what you’re trying to say?”

“What do you want me to do? To love you back? For me to fall madly in love with you.”

“Madly in love?”

“Yes, because I don’t do that.”

“You don’t do that?”

“No, I don’t. That’s just not me. It’s not what I do. So I ask you again, what is your endgame here?”

“I’m going to answer that question.”

“Good, because I would like an answer.”

“I’m going to answer it but first I have a question for you, and then after you respond I promise I’ll answer you.”

“Okay, what’s your question?”

“What are you running from?”

She looked puzzled by his question and he continued, “You are both figuratively and literally running away from something.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You are. I see it everyday when you run out there. It’s something more than exercising. There’s getting/staying in shape but this is something else entirely. I can’t quite place it but I’m getting that there’s a sense of sadness in your eyes when you run. So I ask again, what are you running from?”


She paused as if she was going to say something but she didn’t have the words to speak. He held up his finger, indicating to her to hold her thought. “Before you answer me, I want you to think about it. Take the rest of the day and then sleep on it. I’ll be here again tomorrow morning when you run on by. I’m not trying to pry by asking you this, but I think it might be good for you to talk about whatever it is that happened. I might not even be the person that you’re comfortable telling but what I’m trying to say, albeit in a very long-winded way, is that you don’t need to run anymore. I’ll let you think about it, but for now I must be going. Lots to do today, lots to do.” He took the last gulp from the paper cup and grabbed his newspaper and started walking down the boardwalk.

“Wait,” She yelled after him. “You still haven’t answered me. What’s your endgame here?”

“Tomorrow.” He said. “I’ll answer everything that you want to know tomorrow. After you’ve acknowledged my question of course.” With that, he walked away from her to begin the rest of his day.


She stared as he continued walking down the boardwalk until he turned a corner and was out of sight. She turned in the opposite direction and continued her morning run. Lots to do today, she thought. Lots to do.




… To Be Continued

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Coming… In 2017

Coming soon…


Secrets of a Self-Proclaimed Ninja

Hello, She Lied

New Years Day

Drunken Laundry

Awkward Encounter

Tidbits from a Timid Fellow

Blatant Disregard

Wasted Wishful Thinking

Interview with a Zombie

and many, many more…



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An Open Letter to 2016

An Open Letter to 2016


2016. Wow. What a shit show, but you know what? I’m still standing motherfucker.


I survived it all – both minor and major setbacks. I survived a lengthy worker strike, rejections from various publications, car troubles, money troubles, and a devastating personal loss – but I’m still standing motherfucker.


I’ve watched what you did to other people too. I’ve seen you fuck with them without mercy. I saw them get knocked the fuck down but they got the fuck back up. We cannot and will not be broken. Ever.


So fuck you 2016. You gave it your best shot to knock me out but you failed. You came pretty close a couple of times, but in the end, I’m still standing motherfucker. So fuck you again 2016. Fuck you and good riddance. Go suck a bag of dicks.

So now I’m waiting on you 2017. I’ll be waiting to see what you got. Are you going to try to outdo 2016? Are you going to try and see if you can knock me the fuck out? Do you even have the balls enough to try?


Bring it 2017, because no matter what you dish out to me, I’ll still be standing motherfucker.






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How’s it Going?

He was in the pharmaceutical aisle of Maragliano’s Markets looking for the strongest OTC headache remedy that he could find. He was hung over again, no stranger to that feeling as of late. He narrowed it down to two choices when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He saw an old friend standing there impeccably dressed in business attire, holding a basket of grocery items.


“Hey! I thought that was you. My god, it’s been so long. How’s it going?” His friend asked extending his hand to greet.


He thought to himself, where can I begin?


I cry a lot. It’s been a rough year. My wife left me. Took the kids with her. Came home to a ‘Dear John’ Can you believe that, in this day and age? A letter. Well not really a letter. She wrote in on the Notes app of my iPad. Don’t know how she cracked the complexity of my pass code: 1234. She even took my dog. My dog. She didn’t even like him, but she took him anyway. Said something about it’ll make it easier on the kids. I don’t know, Christ. It all happened so fast that I never saw it coming. I should have though. Small things at first that weren’t noticeable, but in hindsight, were always there. Little things. Passive-aggressive things. They were all there. I just never noticed them. I’m not saying it was totally her fault. I’m surely to blame for some of it, just not all of it. I take full responsibility for calling her the wrong name. Twice. In my defense, it was in the beginning of the relation ship and it never happened again. I don’t know, maybe she held on to it. Held on to resentment. I don’t think she ever forgot. Not all of our 9 years together were bad. It just got to the point where it was getting harder and harder to remember the good times.


She left me, but she kept the house. I was given instructions on when she and the kids wouldn’t be home so I could gather up my things. I packed some clothes into a duffle bag and left everything else there. I never even got a chance to say goodbye. I had no place to go, so I rented a motel room. The kind of place that usually has their clientele pay by the hour. I couldn’t afford a real hotel room. Work had gotten so crazy the past few months that I couldn’t keep up with the workload, so they did what I feared they were going to do – they demoted me. With that demotion came a huge pay cut. With that pay cut I also lost something equally as valuable – my self esteem.


Losing my wife, the kids and the dog was bad enough but then shortly after I got the news that my brother died. This was a sudden loss. He was not sick for a long time and succumbed to the illness. I think that would have made it at least a little bit easier to handle. Not much easier, as the death of a loved one is the hardest thing in the world to endure, but it would have made some kind of sense to me.


In the end, he overdosed on cocaine. I can’t even count the times I told him that shit was going to catch up with him. I even made fun of him and said to him, ‘What 50 year old man do you know that still does coke?’ He would always respond with, ‘Nothing bad can happen to me.’ The doctors told me that his airways were blocked and he died from cardiac arrest caused by a cocaine overdose. I couldn’t believe it. A part of me actually believed him and that nothing bad was ever going to happen, but I was wrong. I was never more wrong in my life. That’s when I began to put all of the blame on myself. I should have done more. I should have been there for him. I should have kept on him instead of relenting. The guilt is something that is unbearable that you try to do anything to numb the pain. For me, I began to drink more and more and more but no matter how much I drank, the pain and guilt was still there. To this day it never has really left me.


I was never much of a drinker. I had my run at it in my younger days but it was just a passing phase. During your twenties it’s almost a rite of passage. Now, it was my only form of respite from the suffering. At one point I even dabbled in my brother’s drug of choice, but it didn’t last long. Cocaine is a young man’s game. I knew it, and my brother should have known also. I stopped almost as quickly as I began.


I remember going out to Slappy’s Bar one time about a month or so after his death. I saw an incredibly attractive girl sitting at the bar alone. She was just sitting there reading a book. I don’t know what it was that made me think that I would even have an inkling of a shot with her, but in my mind I did. I asked the bartender what she was drinking and he told me it was Maker’s Mark on the rocks. I asked him to back her up. I waited at the bar as he told her. She looked over and raised her glass to me and smiled. I walked over there with so much confidence but it quickly dissipated as her beauty immediately intimidated me. I thought to myself, ‘My god, you’re so beautiful’, but my thoughts weren’t kept in my head and I said them aloud to her. How embarrassing. She laughed and said, ‘Madonna once said, “Good looks gets you through the door, but it doesn’t keep you in the room.” I told her that I didn’t know what that means. She smiled and said, ‘One day you will and it will all make sense.’ We had a brief conversation after that; she talked about things that I didn’t understand, political issues, and societal norms – mostly stuff that was way above my head. I cut it short when I came to the realization that I was truly not in her league. Looks wise and intelligence. I made an excuse and left the bar.


I actually felt guilty for going out. Not guilty for going out on my wife after our break up. The marriage was over, nothing to feel guilty about there, but guilty for going out after my brother’s death. I didn’t want to have a good time. I didn’t deserve it. I would actually count the times that I went out and with each time the guilt grew and grew. Eventually, it subsided, but every now and then that guilt still pops up in the back of my mind. Hanging out back there with the rest of my demons. Why should I be out having a good time while my brother is dead?


After his death, what I thought really sucked was how people interacted with me. There were countless people who would call and say, ‘If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to call.’ I honestly do no know one person that has ever taken up someone on that offer. A part of me thinks that the person offering their assistance knows that you won’t accept it or ever even call them for any kind of help. It’s just something nice to say to someone while they’re in mourning.


Some people don’t know what to say and they stay away, I admire those folks more only for the fact that a lot of people simply say the wrong things. I was told that he’s with god now and he’s in a better place. Really? He’s in a better place? You think there’s a better place than being here with me still? God, you say? God did this? What kind of god do you believe in that would rip apart your life in an instant without any sort of explanation? Just a tip, know your audience before you bring up religion into it. I secretly wish more people wouldn’t know what to say and choose not to say anything at all. There should be more people like those.


There’s also a time frame associated with dealing with someone who’s grieving. I learned that it’s two weeks. After that everyone becomes a ghost. Poof – gone. Even if you did want to reach out to someone for help – I know of nobody that has ever done this – there’s nobody there. Disheartening yes, but I can also understand it as I didn’t want to burden myself on anyone, nor did I want to intrude or barge into anyone else’s daily routines. It made sense to me after a while but at first, it was heart breaking.


In time things do get better, albeit very slowly. Birthdays and holidays seem to be the worst. A feeling of emptiness inside that can never be filled again. They say time heals all wounds. I don’t know if that’s exactly true. Time makes all wounds more tolerable. I think that’s a better description. With time, you become a little bit better with the adjustment.

Through this entire year – the break up, the demotion, living in a motel room, the loss of my brother – I did realize something. I realized that there is something inside of us that keeps us going. I don’t know what it’s called. I don’t even know if it even has a name or what it is exactly that makes us do it, but we keep doing it every day – We wake up. We wake up even though we may not want to and sometimes we might find ourselves screaming to ourselves, ‘Why god, why? You mean I really have to do this all over again? Again. Really? Why?’ But we do it, and we do it, and we do it, in hopes that eventually one day it gets easier. Maybe some day it does. I don’t know if it ever will or does, but we keep doing it anyway. Clinging on to that one last thread. Hope. And maybe, just maybe you get lucky and fortunate enough to have that one person that steps up and takes your mind off of things. Someone that doesn’t say they’ll be there for you if you need anything but someone who will actually sit there with you and say, ‘Man that shit sucks. You’ve had a really shitty year and nothing I can say is going to improve it but you know what? Let’s go out and do something. Even if it’s only for a little while, let’s try to take you mind off of things.’ Or maybe even better yet, they sit there with you and don’t say anything at all. They’re just there. Things are not going to go away completely, they never truly do, but for a small spec of time, maybe they can. And maybe, just maybe you can find your smile again. These were the thoughts that ran through his head as his friend stood before him.


He wanted to tell his friend all of his truth, every single word, but in the end everybody lies. He smiles, extends his hand forward to connect, and responds, “I’m okay. How’s it going?”


His friend starts thinking to himself, where can I begin




The End

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The Long Road Out of Hell


he was heading down a darkened path that he’s never known before. no light, only darkness. the GPS on his phone no longer worked, just a jumbled mess of pixels appearing underneath the cracked screen. he couldn’t remember if he dropped the phone or smashed it in a fit of rage. raging against anything and everything just to feel alive again. he sat down in the alleyway still unaware of his surroundings. he reached into his jacket and pulled out his flask, he filled it with rum, not his first choice in liquor but it was the only thing available to him before he left his house. he had no destination in mind, and didn’t know the walk would eventually find him lost. he thought about calling someone for help, but he couldn’t think of anyone to reach out to. over 50 contacts were in his cracked phone but he didn’t want to burden anyone. he could try to make someone the scapegoat but in the end he realized that this was entirely all his fault. he took a swig from the flask and made a face of disgust. while he did not care for the taste, it was doing its job of numbing him of the pain. he laughed at the irony of it all. there he was lost in a strange part of town trying to wash away his fears and anxiety but at the same time wanted something, anything to get back on track of living. he was alive but no longer living. he had gone months now wishing away his life for things that were unattainable. he took another sip and this time it wasn’t so bad. he was getting used to the taste and that put a new fear into him. he had been drinking more lately, but he dismissed it off as just a phase that he’s been known to go through every now and again. this was different now though, he was afraid that he was using it for assistance out of this long road from hell. he then wondered if maybe it was the cause that brought him down to this hell in the first place. he lost all track of time, not knowing how long he’d been walking before he found the alleyway to rest. he wondered if anyone noticed he was gone. he felt sick and alone. he thought for sure the battery on his phone died but was mistaken when he heard it ringing. no longer able to tell who was calling through cracked glass, he answered the phone.


“hello?” he said

“where are you?” she asked.

“who is this?”

“you know damn well who this is.”

“oh, hi. what’s up?”

“what’s up? that’s all you have to say?”

“it’s a start.”

“where are you?” she repeated.

“in hell,”

“no really.”

“i don’t know. i was walking and got lost.”

“look on your phone’s GPS.”

“i can’t, it’s cracked. can’t see a thing.”

“you broke your phone?”

“yes, don’t know if it was on purpose or an accident.”

“have you been drinking?”

“a little bit.”

“what have you been drinking?”


“you don’t even like rum.”

“i know.”

“i’m worried about you.”

“don’t be.”

“what brought you to this?”

“the meaningless of it all. there’s no point to any of it.”

“there is a point. you have to believe that.”

“at this moment in time, i can’t”

“okay, but there will be a moment that you will.”


“good, then that’s a start.”

“i guess.”

“come home.”

“i can’t.”

“you can’t or you won’t?”

“i can’t. i’m lost.”

“in hell?”

“that’s what it feels like.”

“i’ll find you.”


“i’m coming to bring you home. look for the cross streets and i’ll find you.”

with her words a glimmer of hope fell upon him and upon that realization he broke down into tears. things might not be as bad as he thought, possibly there might even be a turn for the better. he wiped his eyes. he was going home.

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