Where I've been.

For a few months I haven't really felt like talking. I had a lot on my mind but nothing approaching a cogent thought. For much of the time we were simply exhausted from, well from life.

Lisa's grandfather passed away. Now I'm almost free to talk about it. It's hard to talk without sounding like I'm gloating. I'm not. Tom was my best friend these last few years. We played together. I listened to the same god damned stories every week. Each telling seemed to be taking on a more intense sense of urgency. Tom had to get them out before his end came. He knew it was coming. He fought every slip and slide toward what comes next. Kind of like that Seinfeld episode where George fakes being a marine biologist.

"The sea was angry that day my friend!" "Like an old man sending back a bowl of soup in a restaurant."

Tom refused that last bowl of soup as if he could hold off and hold on to one more rush. But he knew when he bought his last car that he was buying his last car. He knew the mess he was leaving when he burned the engine on his Porsche. He knew no one would buy his broken down Bricklin during his lifetime.

We had the Porsche fixed. I just could not stand the thought of it not rolling around. The Bricklin I can do myself.

He left Lisa the house and the objects there-in. He left the cars to her but it was understood that the cars would be for me to look after as I had when he was living. He left us land that we can't build a house on. The joke's on Wenham. I found a tax loophole that lets me tell them to go fuck off. We can't build and they can't tax us on it. They get my trees for a decade and I have my own adventure park to four wheel drive in.

We have nothing to complain about. Hopefully no one else will and the estate will pass probate quickly. In the mean time, I know what 250 km per hour feels like.