A roller coaster weekend.

As you can see from her last post, TRUE isn't sure if we're doing the right thing by being "more than friends." God, if ever there was a hackneyed phrase that pays. She ran away on Saturday only to return on Sunday, full of life and full of love. This morning was unfortunate, as we awoke and went outside to find the landlady's son waiting by the road with one of his wiseguy friends. We said good morning and he said it back and then, upon giving it some thought, said to us, "I just want you to know that my mother passed way last night." What the hell! We were completely flabbergasted. Poor guy was waiting for the ambulance--he'd just found her in her bed. His friend had raced over and parked his jeep haphazardly in front of the house. I figure she was about 50. We saw her the night before, getting out of her car. She was overweight and a nervous wreck, nosey and constantly irritated. Must have been a heart attack.

Truth be told she was generally a total pain in the ass, although she'd simmered down a bit of late. She actually seemed like she meant it when she returned my Good Evenings. The perma-scowl had loosened on her face. I think her son had convinced her to start going to the gym.

This loosening, this letting go...sometimes it's the end.

Anyway, I wanted to take TRUE to breakfast--a good ol fry-up, where we'd sit across from each other with greasy lips and revel in the cosmic insignificance of a fag and dyke getting it on. We should take a cue from the deceased and worry less and do more. Unfortunately, upon finding out about the landlady, TRUE was in no mood to eat, so I went without her. Perhaps I should have stayed and made her tea. I'm not used to sustained emotions, however, if a sense of stability is lacking, than I'll make a proclamation. I love pussy! How's that? Especially punk rock pussy. Now and forever, baby!

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