Go With Brad
Eventually, I decided I did not want to lose my belongings to some tweaked out rager. I followed him home, only for him to come down, try suicide and all kinds of other pleasantries. The rest of my stay was a babysitting course.
When I got home, I swore him off, but he just wouldn’t go away. He was always there, faithfully by my side, and he even asked me to come back down. He loved my abuse.
The strange thing was not any of this, but the cookbooks I had gotten from Liz, who had formerly belonged to Charlie. They had passed through so many hands, I could not be sure who was responsible for what my mother found when I brought them back to her, but her heart dropped, and she went pale. “Who gave these to you?”
Inside the book was a receipt that was over ten years old. It was the same pink as the shirt she was wearing at the time that she found it, also matching a pink folder set out in front of her, a rather odd occurrence. It was hand-written in her own writing, having our old address and her old credit card, number and all, complete with her signature.
It really was a conspiracy. What the sign meant could be taken many ways. The message came to pass that people had been watching, and quite for some time; there were no coincidences.
Here Comes the Hurricane...
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