There isn't really much of an interest to turn "Don't Print This" into one of those tawdry sex and crime magazines you used to see at your finer convenience stores --or at least I used to see, because my best friend was fond of stealing them --not that he was actually interested in reading it. It was just that he'd taken everything else: the car and gun magazines, a variety of mid-grade porn, and a few comic books that really weren't for him.
Really, those he gave to me, as a kind of payment for keeping my mouth shut and for housing the rest of the loot.
Shoplifting never bothered him, having to explain anything to his parents did and somehow, he thought, eventually, they'd catch him.
Anyway, there have been some odd, gossipy kind of developments. A few people have spoken up as being interested or knowing those who are interested
which is at once exciting and baffling. It's exciting that there a few women out there who'd like do more than lunch with me. It's baffling because it just is. I'm a snarling traffic wreck even during the best of times and here I am, split up, divorcing and probably more than a little off-balance and there's interest? in me? Really?
What is also strange is the number of former girlfriends and past crushes that have stumbled back onto the stage, seemingly a little drunk and not entirely sure of their lines.
"Oh, Bill. I have missed you... so. "
I don't know what to make of this, but I kind of like it.