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text: wackos
text return: all of them! Philadelphia on point. Hours pass.
Phone rings. Butter. “Hi babe.” “What did they say?”
“It’s not good.” “Yea. What’s it?”
“They don’t know.”
“What is it so far?”
“There’s a mass on my brain. It runs from my eye through the nerve to the frontal lobe. There’s a spot on my brain.”
“Ok, it is what it is.” I felt it.
“I know.”
“You know this much. Now we know what it looks like and soon you’ll know what it is.”
“Yes. What can I do? I’m coming back tomorrow. The doctor warned me about it but what am I going to do? I don’t have insurance in the states. I don’t know what to do with that warning.”
“I don’t have insurance in the states. If you need care simply take it. Take what you need and walk out.”
“You think? They don’t know what it is.”
“What if it’s love?” Like a tumor. Laughter.
“I’m coming back. I’m not going to plan for the worst, I’d be bored as hell.”
“Butter, call if you want.”
“I’m going to bed, I have to be on the road by nine.”
“Call if you want. Sweet dreams doll.”
“Sweet dreams to you.”
This is it. This is what's next.