I'd worked my week, had a long night at the end of Wednesday shift, staying out with pot smokers, biking home late.
Getting up late on Thursday, had set up a date with a lady of Gautamalan nobility, when I got a call, your father's gone to the hospital.
And I callous, sort of said, as I picked up pho and a bottle of wine, the floors and the paint and the bathroom finally having been done, inviting the lady by, oh, he'll be alright. I walked past the statue of Marek standing tall and nobly, there were buds on the trees.
That morning around eleven we slept together again and then I got serious about calling St. Luke's.
Tonight, busy, the wine tasting night for the guy who's gone away. Talk and talk. I'm busy, the waiter must go, forgetting he was to go out to dinner with his gal, not his fault he works two jobs.
My love of my old man showed to her, that girl in college, the princess, for he was a guy beyond compare, in all ways.
And yet I'd fucked it up when he came to visit, first one weekend I was trying to get my thesis together, professionally, then off to Maine, and then the next, Parent's Weekend. Her parents must have come. She brought me a James Dean poster, because I'd earned it, but I did not put it all together, and so I let everyone down.
I spoke to him around twelve, the nurse put me on. His color had been good before, and the doctor's report from his own was good around 11 the night before. I feel awful, he said, in his own voice. And then he said something like he had to go, and I said bye, as the other line of my cell phone began to beep, after he'd said, bye.