Journals (Part 3)
The bartender poured me an ale and took I took it to a table near a window for extra light to decipher the handwriting, which on first inspection, was nothing like I had ever seen and I'd seen thousands of samples.
The last page of the journal read:
Don't fuck with
I just got my phone last night. I miss you too and also want to let you know I've been holding the spot I cleaned up a lot. I think things look and feel more comfortable.
Your homie Rich came to see you but you weren't here obviously.
(unintelligible words) ...you get this note. I also got a phone for you. You need one. I gotcha.
I am going to get some (unintelligible words). Just call you and make sure you're good. Like you've been gone for days. I love you.
It wasn't what I had initially hoped for, but as I read the passage over and over and constructed an interpretation, it occurred to me that I had discovered something much richer and encouraging than a literary diamond in the squalor: a message of caring, of helping, of nuts and bolts survival, and at the end, of love.