It often seems that the friends I make, the ones who seem ready to love me for the whole go round decide at some point that I am somewhat along the line of a good meal but too hard to get at; like blue crab or something. Think about how tasty those crabs are; then think about the last time you had a mess of them over the house. The shells hurt your hands and the Cayenne gets in the pokes and slices and then the trash doesn't come for days and lessons are taught by the blue tail fly. Don't fret, someones mamma's going to see those maggots on the black trash bags. Then it comes down to the reasonable gathering where Poppa pulls out the years grouper crop and a fish fry is put on.
Good food good company. No mess. No pain. No one to ask the wrong question in this happy group. No, because they all sailed safely through the 60s happy in the knowledge that they were secure and the men they knew were safe and smart and they lit fires on beaches and spoke codes and fattened their futures and worst thing was they forgot, because it didn't mean a thing to any one's plans until it proved an inconvenient mess when a guy like me slipped through and then had the gall to exhibit symptoms of a horror that could not be controlled or over looked. How dare a person behave the part of a separate reality and what were we thinking anyway?
Well the problem is easily solved. Just pretend there was never anything there and it will go away.
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