Tuesday, June 14, 2005
D-Day: 6 p.m.
That's when the deal goes down, yo. He's not going to be able to give me all the cash at one time -- which I guess I wouldn't have expected him to, although that could've been a really extra-SWEET weekend, boy -- but what he's planning on giving will be just fine for downtown shopping at all the right places.
Yes, I know some of y'all are worried that I'm walking into a complete nightmare; don't think that hasn't been on my mind, too. Therefore, I'm posting this e-mail I sent to him last night as my thoughts to the world on the subject:
That way, if I turn up dead, you'll know he'd been warned.
Ok, that made absolutely NO sense, but I'm also working on very little sleep here, because my throat? Is in ribbons.
Yes, I know some of y'all are worried that I'm walking into a complete nightmare; don't think that hasn't been on my mind, too. Therefore, I'm posting this e-mail I sent to him last night as my thoughts to the world on the subject:
All right, then how about Starbucks at the Star around 6-ish? (Normally I'd say the bar by the pool in the hotel, but I try not to drink while I'm working -- especially when it involves high school kids.)As for coming alone, that's fine, but know that there are people who *will* know where I'm going to be, and they
know who YOU are. Sounds harsh, I realize, but (the) way I see it, the chances that the transformation you've undergone over the last 14 years has turned you into an axe murderer are just as good as them turning you into a sentient human being. I might be quixotic, but I'm not a retard.
No pressure, of course. ...
No pressure, of course. ...
That way, if I turn up dead, you'll know he'd been warned.
Ok, that made absolutely NO sense, but I'm also working on very little sleep here, because my throat? Is in ribbons.
I will call you every 10 minutes. No kidding. I will.