“With five billion people in the world, what’s the point of hanging out with an untrustworthy mutha fucka who doesn’t give you blow jobs? People are easily replaceable. They just keep making more.”
A few weeks ago I posted a rather long story about the death of my friend Dean. I’m rereading my journal from 1997 (the first half of which is more or less all about Robyn), and I discovered something. The last time I saw Dean alive, he invited me to his house that night and I turned him down because I had plans with Robyn. That was Easter Sunday, 1997. Within days, he was dead. There’s no great cosmic significance to this fact, it’s just that, I had my choice of hanging out with two people that night, one that would be dead within a week and another who would be dead in a couple years. Both of them addicts in one way or another, both who died shortly after cleaning up, for reasons unrelated to their addiction…
Robyn
I remember Robyn, and Dean, I named one of my Journals after a memory I have of her.