This isn't going to do any good, but I have to do it anyway, because every once in a while I have to try again. It's worn a hard rut of sorrow in my heart, and at this point I know I'm never going to get over it. So if you've run into me and found me snappish, narrow-minded and sour, read the title on this post.
Soon after he went missing, I dreamt he met me at the foot of a street going straight up from the west end of the Fremont bridge in Seattle. There is no such street. I've even checked a Fremont street in Bremerton, and a Fremont neighborhood in Tacoma. Thinking of him the other day, and discovered there was a Fremont neighborhood in Las Vegas.
If you can tell me what happened to him -- and prove it -- it's $250.00 bucks for you. If you can bring him back alive, it's $500.00.
There. I've got it out of my system for another session of weeks or years. And don't tell me to Get Over It; a local poke-into-your-life wanna-be spiritualist leader told me "We (him and his just-as-bad partner) can cure grief and guilt." He's lucky I didn't slap him silly on the spot.