bedside manor

operator, oh could you help me place this call
you see the number on the matchbook is old and faded
she’s livin’ in L.A.
with my best old ex-friend Ray
a guy she said she knew well and sometimes hated

isn’t that the way they say it goes ...

I once had a good friend.

He needed a couch to crash on and there were two in the seemingly empty house I briefly rattled around in, following the break-up last year. He came to stay and seemingly never left.

I don't often have close male friends. I can count on a broken hand how many have really mattered over time. I tend not to understand those fellows in my gender, so when I find someone with whom I can bond over coffee, beers, and such about whole bevies of things, I don't take it lightly.

He was often considered my doppelganger, although I would suspect it was less about odd similarities and more about the way the friendship seemed to flow like they seem to do in movies. It hardly surprises me that the last time we met up, the conversation flowed like it was the end of an era. But of course, a couple slices of bacon and four cups of coffee later, and I find myself stuck with a twenty dollar parking ticket. Talk about putting a nail in the coffin. Real friendships have no monetary value. Evidently, this wasn't one.