small case

so i'm trying to pour f.w. into a cab but he's resisting rescue, plus he's devolved into paranoid maniac mode.

'you're mocking me! i know you're mocking me!'

'i'm not mocking you. you make good sense. but it's time for you to go home.'

he's giving me the patented anxiety glare: 'you know how i am! i just can't take that kind of misappropriation in public. they just shouldn't be allowed to represent like it's first-hand knowledge when they weren't even born then!'

i lean over to the driver's side window and tell him the address. through the rearview, i catch his eyes flicker between f.w. in the backseat and me. still he takes the bill i'm offering.

'you only think you know the pain!' f.w. yells* out at a strolling uptown couple. oncoming headlights glint off his waxy skewed lenses. 'how the hell are you supposed to buy a suit on sneaker wages!?'

their pace didn't change. utterly no reaction. as if they knew we would all be leaving soon anyway.

i say, 'f.w., inside voices dude.' then to the driver, 'he won't puke, don't worry.' he looks resigned.

just before i close the door f.w. whispers: 'you'll never see me again.'

he was both right and wrong.