this is water, this is water, this is water...

polaroidjesus:
Miller
This one is hard. Miller was my best friend but we haven’t spoken for more than seven years now. For reasons that are mostly my fault, his wife didn’t really like having me around. That was hard on him, and I did things that didn’t make it any easier. He was in Detroit for a while and I heard little bits of news about him from mutual friends. He has a son now. I can’t believe he has a son I have never met. He fell in love with another woman and moved in with her. Things didn’t work out and he went back home. I don’t know what really happened. Now, no one knows how to find him. I have completely lost him.
Anyway, one of my favorite things, Miller used to come over to my place on Sunday mornings. We would drink coffee, eat some eggs and fried potatoes (lots of potatoes, potatoes are cheap), and read the paper. Floyd would yell at us for waking her up on her day off, but she was just kidding. After a while, we would fill up an empty snapple bottle with bourbon and Miller and I would take a walk. The walks had no planned destination or duration. Mostly we just wandered around taking in the sights and talking for 5 or 6 hours. Sometimes we would stop into a bar and drink a beer and eat a grilled cheese. We snuck into abandoned warehouses and factories and found all kinds of cool stuff. We also wound up talking to lots of random people. I was not good at that, but it happened to Miller all of the time. He was a kind man and you could see it in his face, and people would just talk to him.
One walk found us in a stranger’s kitchen drinking beer and buying a gun and a cigarette pack with a handful of shells in it. I don’t remember how the offer was made, we weren’t looking for one, but once it happened, the logic of those walks demanded that we follow through. We only had ten dollars between the two of us, but that was enough, so we wound up sharing a ten dollar gun. Despite what Chekhov says about guns, nothing ever happened with that one so I should have probably left it out. Miller wound up with it though, so I guess I don’t really know.
I wish I could find him. I would love to meet his son. I want him to tell me that things happened the way I remember. I hope he is ok.

Miller

This one is hard. Miller was my best friend but we haven’t spoken for more than seven years now. For reasons that are mostly my fault, his wife didn’t really like having me around. That was hard on him, and I did things that didn’t make it any easier. He was in Detroit for a while and I heard little bits of news about him from mutual friends. He has a son now. I can’t believe he has a son I have never met. He fell in love with another woman and moved in with her. Things didn’t work out and he went back home. I don’t know what really happened. Now, no one knows how to find him. I have completely lost him.

Anyway, one of my favorite things, Miller used to come over to my place on Sunday mornings. We would drink coffee, eat some eggs and fried potatoes (lots of potatoes, potatoes are cheap), and read the paper. Floyd would yell at us for waking her up on her day off, but she was just kidding. After a while, we would fill up an empty snapple bottle with bourbon and Miller and I would take a walk. The walks had no planned destination or duration. Mostly we just wandered around taking in the sights and talking for 5 or 6 hours. Sometimes we would stop into a bar and drink a beer and eat a grilled cheese. We snuck into abandoned warehouses and factories and found all kinds of cool stuff. We also wound up talking to lots of random people. I was not good at that, but it happened to Miller all of the time. He was a kind man and you could see it in his face, and people would just talk to him.

One walk found us in a stranger’s kitchen drinking beer and buying a gun and a cigarette pack with a handful of shells in it. I don’t remember how the offer was made, we weren’t looking for one, but once it happened, the logic of those walks demanded that we follow through. We only had ten dollars between the two of us, but that was enough, so we wound up sharing a ten dollar gun. Despite what Chekhov says about guns, nothing ever happened with that one so I should have probably left it out. Miller wound up with it though, so I guess I don’t really know.

I wish I could find him. I would love to meet his son. I want him to tell me that things happened the way I remember. I hope he is ok.