I know that this is probably going to arrive in your mailbox just after you arrive in Fond-du-Lac and then sit there for weeks, but if I don’t write it now then it’s just going to sit in my brain, which I think you’ll agree is not as sturdy as your mailbox. And no less likely to have a baseball bat swung at it, at least if I don’t come up with that money I told you about.
So I didn’t run off into the woods after you dropped me off at the meeting; I didn’t run off into the woods that stretch along I-35 and start drinking the dregs of the beer cans and forty bottles that are never going to get cleaned up. Thanks for trusting me not to run off into the woods.
No, I went inside and I sat in the back and listened to this ponytailed Guatemalan guy and this beautiful waify blonde with a man’s name tell these stories about heavy metal music and whiskey for breakfast and speed for lunch and asskickings and betrayals and vomiting--there was so much vomiting in these people’s stories. It was like they whenever they forgot what they were going to say they just said something about how then they vomited everywhere.
The last speaker was this older broad who said she turned it around after she got tackled to the ground in Tampa airport and there were thirty pounds of cocaine in her luggage. Like, she seriously just put thirty pounds of cocaine in a suitcase and walked it into the airport and put it on the conveyor and figured everything would be fine and she would get paid on the other side so she could buy more drugs.
That one was hilarious. And she said she had been going to meetings the whole time she was running cocaine all over the country. I wanted to raise my hand and ask why we should believe she didn’t have thirty pounds of cocaine in her car right now.
And I didn’t.
Anyway. I’m still fucked in at least five of the seven senses of the word, but I’m glad you helped me or else it would be six of seven. Carol isn't coming back, big surprise. That really good Petit Chablis you brought over is still almost 2/3 full in my refrigerator. What the hell should I do with it? It probably tastes awful now. Maybe I’ll just leave it there for ten years.
Thanks Harry. I'll try to write you again in FDL, FML.