Only Time

There is no reason you should understand, at the moment, why I'm going to write this, but you will eventually, if you continue to read this blog. You see, I'm not writing it for this blog, I'm writing it for a blog that I'll share with a fellow blogger. We're going to collaborate on a story. At some point, when you're older and able to understand these things, I'll explain it to you. In the interim, you may find that I write odd things that are irrelevant to anything else you read here. Well, when you see that, you'll know I'm capturing something for my blog collaboration or I'm slipping into perpetual dementia. Only time will tell.

His trademark expression was "It's a fucking pleasure!" He used it the way others would say "Thank you." But it was much more than that. He emphasized the first syllable of pleasure; that was how listeners could differentiate between his outbursts of anger and his honest expressions of appreciation. Or, at least, that's the way it used to be. The fact that he wore sunglasses whose lenses were damn near black helped confound the meaning. "Pleasure!" It sounded fake, but with him, it probably wasn't. He meant something by it. Oh, it fit his persona, but it really meant something. The question, of course, was: "What?" Dammit, I wish I'd asked him before he got on the goddamn train!