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When my uncle overdosed on crack, the people he considered friends took his body outside of the house party and left.
Word got out, and people went to his house. They stole his car and a bunch of other shit.
When my mom arrived to identify his body and make arrangements, all that was left were his books and some clothes.
She had to pay off his debt at a local grocery store.
She had to listen to his spun out friend tell her about the time that him and my uncle went swimming with a dolphin and touched it.
I remind her of him sometimes. I think about how he might’ve felt.
“He was brilliant. He just always needed to be high.”
Rest in peace.
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..you get tired, sometimes, of wit and intellect, everybody’s little display of genius…
