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Weaving a Path of Death and Destruction

I went out last night, at my friends’ insistence. Let’s face it: I had nothing else planned, and things, as I’d mentioned before, have been going swimmingly with my ex-best friend and I so I didn’t really want to jinx it.

I stopped by their house after a brief bit of confusion with the LRT, I didn’t really get why it wasn’t running from my station to theirs, but there was a shuttle to take me there, so no harm, no foul. I got there just in time as they were on their way out and I had time to slam back one can of Budweiser before we headed out.

The EXBF and I chatted about how freeing it was to get fired from our place of former employment and how needlessly stressful it was in the end – a little bit of bonding never hurts. She yammered on about her new manfriend  (who seems really good for her, so yay!) and we talked about this house on t way that had the top floor burn down this past week. It’s weird, because my friend Jckie used to like right next door.

Our usual dive bar was less than exciting, but the typicality of the evening was refreshing and comforting.

It was warm out, and after scoring heaps of free beer and popcorn, I called it a night. I didn’t feel like waiting for a cab, nor paying for the surcharge that they levy between the hours of 11pm-4am, so I started walking. My initial path would have taken me over the Low Level Bridge but I quickly changed my mind and diverted my course to the High Level Bridge.

As I tottered across the bridge, I remembered why I don’t usually walk that route — it leads to far too much reflection for my alcohol-addled brain. My mind quickly wandered to my friend Ross, who had jumped to his death from the very same bridge two years prior, and I quickened my pace. The street opens up to the rough area of my sexual assault, almost three summers ago, and the police shootout that my old roommate and I were witnesses to that same summer.

I think almost ever dramatic event I’ve been even remotely involved in that was unrelated to frathouse chicanery occured on this stretch of 109th Street.

At least I’m consistent.

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About Nico

I'm not angry all the time, that's just how my face is.

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flickritis

I blog infrequently so you don’t have to

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