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[biscuitpig]

Darren, who informs me he's fresh from two years of abject failure in Vegas ("When I went, I had my own restaurant...I left on a Greyhound bus with five dollars in my pocket"), riding the #21 bus at 1AM with a black eye so severe his whites are red and his pupil's white, says, "Test my memory, Jill. Are you game? Give me your phone number, let's

Comments

[lanalama]

thats very well written.

poetic

[biscuitpig]

Thanks. He was a poem, a poem walking.