Who we are never changes. Who we think we are does. (Mary S. Almanac)

Rider came by the next day and he checked me out of the hospital. He wanted to take me by his apartment but I insisted we go to the Palisades. He was surprised to see the house that meth built.

We ate together. My cook prepared a lovely meal, she always did.

I convinced Rider that I was fine, better than fine. This was challenging though because I wasn’t attending Scotch’s funeral. If I made it out to be business I was cold. If I made it out to be any physical ailment I had to deal with that bag of worms.

I was honest; it’s amazing how easy it is when you’re honest. I told him I was sick of death and funerals and I cared about Scotch and the mourning family but I wanted to respect her from here rather than go and deal with the whole dog-and-pony show.

He nodded. He understood. I don’t know why I didn’t start telling the truth earlier.