A cold beer sweating on a hot afternoon. I mean, it was hot, man. It wasn’t just hot; it was humid. We walked along the banks of the river that ran through everything, like how you used to run from me in fields of tall grass and flowers. We were so much younger back then. We were in love. I had the capacity to feel, and you had the patience to nurture and keep me surprised, wide-eyed. I slept last night with no dreams, finally, and my stomach only hurt mildly today. I’m calling that progress. Progressing toward what? Maybe happiness and health. Maybe death. I don’t know. I can’t tell you the things I thought back then, but I can tell you who I am now. I’ve changed just a bit, my darling. The old-fashioned words you loved being called—darling, dearest, lover, sweetie—I was your suitor. I’m still here, sweetheart. I’m still waiting. I will court you again, although I may run a little slower, my words may fumble and trail off into intruding thoughts. I may wake up soaked and shivering from dreams that come. I may not be the man I once was in your eyes.

morphine, benzo's/ Its ok.

It was cold. Outside and in it was cold! You know it would be warm where ever you brought me. I knew too. Two lost hearts walking with out holding hands. That would come later and one heart would find salvation. Cobblestone and brick the color of blood basking in our desired misery. My desired misery that you remedied one time, one night. I would give that back now if I could. It is better to be alone and loved than unwanted and discarded. It is better to be alone and loved, than unwanted and alone. Like a carrot on a stick, tease, all of it. I would give that all back to you my friend. All of it, I no longer feel my heart flutter with your name, I feel my stomach tie and growl. I do not want your life in mine. Not this way, not at all, poor thing, old love. I might live less but my soul is ok. Its a new year, I will breathe until I can not and I will sing.

February cold, the wind that hits bones as if your skin wasn't there. I was ready. I thought about it over and over for two weeks. What would little abbigal think> or her older sisters Drew and Hannah> They would understand right? Love is not tangible, you can't see it, you can't hold it right?
    Thoughts on my way north on interstate 95. It never was about them in the end, and the end is almost here. I have my last 300$ in my pocket, although spent, I can still turn back.....I can turn around. Maybe talking one more time or a letter? She needed to know it was all or death, not nothing because I don't know what death is yet.

I bought it, just like that. Handed the money and was handed in return a piece of metal with wood grips and a box of shells. I can't turn back now, there is no turning back. ****, the kids though, "STOP THINKING ABOUT THAT," My head rang out in confusion and values. She must not have had any! I'm close now. The sign outside of her work is in the distance. Closer, don't back out. Closer! Yes can you send out Margo, I need to have a word.

A small cloud of smoke and a loud bang and she was bleeding out in the snow in the front of her work. It's time I thought and tuned it to my head. here goes nothi...............

Sammy had killed his ex girlfriend, didn't  leave the scene after he turned the gun on himself.

phone not needed, headrest stained. Blood only known from prior story. Dead weight in the covers, dead body once or twice removed. Its cheap and its south. I feel ok here now. I'll sleep. You hold the conversation my love.

James  Joyce sleeping in bed, next to me. He snores almost as a whisper. I don't bother to shake him. I can sleep and he has been through enough the eccentric that he may be. Write. All else is meaningless. That part is somewhat fiction though. We know that from our own depraved eccentric lows and bottoms. Sleep. You will make it right in the morning. It is dark, it is time my friend.

The last time you said that you screamed it, "******* parasites, always looking over my fence." although there was no one there. It stayed like that for a few weeks. It was obvious the wobblies had turned on you, no more safe place for a union supporter.
             The tracks that lead to out of town kept rearing through your skull as if an invite had been sent through some unknown path of communication. The maddness lasted, sometimes it was worse. One day in particular you pinned your curtains closed until there wasn't one speck of light to be seen inside. "They're coming, you wait, they are timing everything". On that night you ran the shower and shut the door. As steam arose into the room you swallowed twenty sleeping pills and placed a plastic bag over your head. Radio blearing in the backround either for comfort or to drown out any sounds of gasping or both! When they wheeled you out of the house your arm fell off the side of the stretcher as if you were saying goodbye. You would have been embarrassed at the thought of your cold white hand waving. You were angry and scared and had said goodbye years before. There was no need of one last. You left like you came, sadly and yet somehow smiling as if you might have known something no one else did. Maybe you did sweetheart, maybe you did.