Stories
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Pat at some point went to Bellinghan, Washington State, the suicide capital of the US at that time, or so I was told, and proceeded to have a nervous break-down, another name for a schizophrenic episode, at that time and perhaps still today. Better than suicide though so she got-off quite to her advantage. She was messed up when she got back, quite angry, and used to tell us, my room mate Ward and myself, what fools we were. And she proved it as well, which was quite disconcerting and something that needed to be suppressed immediately. A friend named Mark gave me the name of a therapy group called Fort Help, that he said could help her, and they did fix her right up in no time. She was forever grateful to me even though I would point out that it was not me but Mark. Some little time after that she got pregnant and used to visit me with a giant protruding belly and the hand sewn ankle length gowns she used to make. She was tall, thin, elegant, although plain looking with unremarkable shoulder length brown hair.
But she never wore make-up, so I never really saw her as she might make herself appear. A couple of years later she moved with her child to the country and became I heard, a horse trainer and was doing quite well. She made me a purple shirt with wonderful hand stitched herself embroidery, and gave it me for a birthday and I still have it to this day.
I had gone to Doloris Park in the Mission, to a concert by myself, where next to the stage some hippie guy with a very big dick was dancing naked in front of the stage, his appendage bouncing 180 degrees with every step-jump.
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