Skitz, Part Four

Days have passed, and now I know old friends who are ghosting around the hospital in San Francisco where Steve lay comatose. I get little updates in e-mail and on Facebook. People from that time our chattering, telling stories. Pictures from bad break ups, recollections of the time he managed to bash his head pogoing to the Ramones, getting trapped in Buttonwillow and of course, running tallys of whom he managed to talk into selling him his soul.

I've referenced this particular quirk before, i...