Friday December 2nd, 2016 – 4:19 pm
“You were always the most like your father, both in sense of humor as well as… as well as… you know… you know what I am trying to say…”
“Personality?” I ask.
“Yes!” she replies.
“I had to be. I studied him from four years old on. I tried do the things he liked, at first to get on his good side, and then to excel at them, just to prove I was better than both him and Paul, whether it was guitar or chess or sense of humor or winning arguments.”
“Why?” my mother asks.
It’s 1:30 am in my cold, stinky Oregon garage. It is the far more obscene 4:30 am in New York. I just got done telling her that when I am at my sickest and cannot even tell who I am talking to, my voice gets very…
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