Yesterday afternoon I was taking some old bedding to donate, over to the Brown Elephant resale shop. A very worthy charity, a branch of the Howard Brown Clinic. Anyway, as I was tossing the bags of stuff into the back seat of my car, I placed my gloves on the trunk lid. After finishing the loading of the car, I got in and drove off to Andersonville to get a sandwich and drop off the goods. When I got back into my car afterwards, I reached for my gloves. Not there. Not on the seat next to me, nowhere in the car. I finally figured out that they were somewhere on Peterson Avenue all squished and dirty now. I liked those gloves, they were warm and they fit well. So, after screaming the word Fuck about twenty times in a row, I calmed down and drove home. I then got the little step ladder out and dragged it over to the hall closet where we keep our winter clothes. After rooting around in there, up on a shelf, buried under a pile of scarves and hats, I found a brand new pair of gloves. Very nice gloves with the tags still on them, never worn. Another Mark purchase that he never used. Still looking after me, even now.
I've very happy that he is still with you, in one way or another. I always thought that "remember the memories" stuff was just empty words people say when they don't know what else to say. As I get older, it turns out all that shit is true...
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