My friends say I am wallowing in self-pity and remorse. Said I don’t see anybody anymore. When I smile, my hand goes involuntarily to my mouth. I collect sleeping pills. Once we made a pact … if things weren’t okay by 1976 we were going to have a shoot-out at the end of the Marina. You didn’t trust me, said I would shoot you first and run, or shoot myself first, whatever. I’m tired of the bargain, Ter.
