True Story©… Drinkin’ Buddies
![Image](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicSnbEaaRVcU2_Yi2QzS4q0H95WhHfQcs5UvjyFOdsq1i5ipJENERo1FLreg0F0DY2cQHb5F07AEDxDzdgECfwCEDsvTp5T1UHhkQca__J-wYKXuYiXPtyluAsV_6_OvNozL7iVTtb1UhDguSFoP1AODvQjsOAHP1PgrSmjkHEOq_ecXKnBq8zipz330fm/w400-h400/DALL%C2%B7E%202023-10-11%2014.05.07%20-%20motorcyclists%20street%20fighting%20digital%20image.png)
My life is largely not what it has been for the most of my adult life. Most people I know know me well enough to text me instead of calling. I prefer things that way, as it forces people to the point and elicits a better response from me, what with knowing that a text is committing to a repeatable (or screen-shottable, to make up a word) medium. Sometimes, however, things cannot be left to the chance of a text. What if my phone is powered off? What if Wife Person™ has murdered me and buried my body under a single-wide trailer? What if I dropped my phone when Marcus and I were saving those kids from the burning orphanage Sunday before last? Sometimes the only way to be sure contact has been made is to have heard my voice and I know this. I say all that to say that Thursday before last, I got a phone call… Me: “Yo” Homie: “What’s good?” [ Phlip note : I won’t be using any names because I don’t know that his wife is up for me and my shenanigans ] Me: “