We promised to search for him, but, we forgot.
Trapped in our own tensions, our own struggles, the stress of her addiction, minute to minute, random, noisy like the rumble of city streets, burying specifics beneath the background wash of constant chaos.
I will be better able to help after she's gone.
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© 2002-2012 Mark Phillips.
All rights reserved.
This writing is fiction. Please don't confuse it with reality.