Having testicles is like being chained to the village idiot. Sad, but there it is. Harry Hutton
I’d just finished ghosting an article for another crap e-zine, and was resolved to spend another quiet night alone playing poker in my el Cangrejo apartment when the phone began to vibrate.
“Hi,” a female voice said.
“Hey”
“I hope you don’t hate me.”
“Hate you?”
“That was just an opening line. I was nervous about calling.”
Christ, I hadn’t heard from Lizi in 6 months. She’d stopped taking my calls around the time the heavy rains of Panama’s winter had returned.
“So, how are you – como estas?” I said.
“Good, I was over in Patilla tonight with this hot guy.”
“Oh sure,” I said laughing, “and now you’re calling me, leaking fluids like an old Ford pickup.” read more»
