Untitled.
23 April 2004
This afternoon I received an SMS through my web form from my former landlord in Austin. 'Hope you are doing well,' he wrote. 'You just kind of disappeared.' This link to the last chapter of my life hit me harder than I would have thought. But the concern was nice, and any residual pain that I'm feeling is certainly Stef's fault, and not his.
(If you happen to be reading this, Collin, drop me another line with your email address, and I'd be happy to fill you in as to whatever became of me.)
After work it seemed as if people were simply dispersing again. Heading out one or two at a time. I stuck around waiting to see if Joe was coming back, so I could explain to him the status of the CAD files I had been converting for him. And then John, Mike, and Emmett were headed out to a bar, Trailer Park, a faux white trash place on 23rd, and I decided to tag along.
Two margaritas. Two beers. Home for another big bottle of beer, and a relatively early night.