Loneliness is the true killer in America. Heartache is a second runner up. I wallowed, unable to keep Professor Poison out of my mind. I attempted to push thoughts of him away, but it didn’t work. I became a helpless ex-boyfriend in a dark abyss of misery.
I read a few Robert Riley books. I took long walks. I even drove to Raven Island off the coast and spent a day shopping, purchasing things I didn’t need: a pair of jeans, a James Patterson novel, six cupcakes, and a watercolor painting of two shirtless firemen by a local artist named Philip Dyer. I napped frequently. And I started eating less, skipping meals.
Almost Thanksgiving. Closer. So close. I stooped to a level I had never stooped to before. Mindlessly, I ended up in Balsom Park, next to the lake. The park sat two miles from my
