That’s where they found me, my friends, or are they the fog in the faces wrapped within the encompassing all of that which harbors that which is not me? Just one friend first, a continual visitor and honored guest of this place of pension passing I call home. A gift bag in her hands. An offering of generous providence during dark times, out of respect, admiration, joy, maybe even awe, opening the door of my little cabin in the woods to find me lying there, stab wound littered by the telson of my ascending gestalt, maskless, beneath a malfunctioning giving tree.
She calls her husband. Together they scan my vitals. With the knowledge in their hands, on their tablets, or on their desktop they provide my information to another inquiring mind, probably that hurricane of a woman, Lady McBeth.
Well, let’s just say things got out of hand.
The gathering little group of decentralized damn libertines starts passing my face around. I mean, how can you not look? A pact is made not to tell me. Romeo, oh Romeo… But it’s Piper, or shall I say Pink, whose involvement hurts the worst. She’s been my partner for months now, out here in the woods. Just the two of us for however so long now.
I trusted her…