lesson learned from broken dreams: the eulogy was painful, a little less so when I discovered in front of an audience full of his class mates that I was not in fact responsible for the shooting death of close friends son. I was merely chosen based on the impression that I would deliver some moving words. Drunkenly I apologized for a death I had no hand in. Apparently on the way to some engagement or other they had pulled up beside the wrong car full of degenerates, the boy pointed a toy pistol at them as boys are want to do and the driver blew the contents of the boys head out of the top of it with a pneumatic handgun. A puff of air and a warm expulsion not unlike a typhoid cough and my friend watched one of his primary sources of joy drip from the ceiling interior of his car. Well, they cant all be nice dreams.
On a slightly more positive note they self same thugs were keeping yet another of my luckless friends captive, supplying her with a synthetic and hyper-dimensional heroin. We managed to extract her and elude the pnematic pistoleers. Although, I have no idea who “we” are.