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Where is she?

I called her number, cell phone. It went straight to voice mail.  I called her office, there was no answer.  The results of these efforts not surprisingly, were the same.

On the way home I thought once again of my friend Earl’s rather chauvinistic advice.  Never trust a person of the female gender.  That credo was certainly out of sync with the attitude of the prevailing times- The New York Times, Early Times or any other times, but that did not mean it was not without merit.  A little chauvinism today, quite possibly, might prevent a little tedium tomorrow.  Not only was I feeling distrustful of females, but I was also developing distrust for females of any gender at the moment. Which you may not understand but that's ok because I’m the one writing this and you are the one reading this, if you are, and thats just how its supposed to be. If it is to be anyway at all.

In fact my attitude was strikingly like that of Al Capone, toward the end of his life when, like a blood thirsty, psychotic, paranoid, stubborn, diabolical twelve-year-old, he refused to trust anyone. That attitude may never win you a lot of friends, but its not a bad one to have if you know you are going to a womens’ bake sale, or a strip bar.

“Did I just hear the word fuckup?”

“Well pardon me, it’s just the Christ like streak in me coming out.”

“Be careful or someone might take three nails and put you up for the night.”

I began to notice a general absence of human warmth in the place.

I saw Earl reach for a pink sticky note lying between the cushions of the sofa. To my regret he read it out loud.

“You need more coffee pencil dick. And while you’re out shopping, get a life.”


“I like  a girl not afraid to express herself.” said Earl with a sarcastic grin.