... another one smites the rust.
One of the last of the original buddies I have at work is leaving, will be gone before I return, departed to the state north of here. California is America's sideburn.
I'm disappointed. He should have kept the office exactly as it was until I returned. I can become unexpectedly violent when disoriented, or if someone has moved something on my desk, or when I don't recognize my face in the morning, or in the mirror, etc. - sometimes, not every time.
I don't always wake up at the office, etc.
No. No. No. No.
I make a joke out of everything; am amused by nothing, afraid of it, maybe, or of its completeness.
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