A Letter to George Floyd:

Hi. I didn’t know you when you were alive…but I watched you die.

I’ve never seen a man die like that before. I never heard anyone call for help with such anguish.

I heard you call for your mother. When I have nightmares, I still call out for my mother. I yell, “Mommy! Mommy!”…because when I am truly scared I know my mother will help me…even though she’s been dead for years.

Hi. I didn’t know you, but I know where you died. I used to hang out in that neighborhood when I was a kid. It was a great neighborhood…different now…but I bet it’s still great.

Hi. I didn’t know you but you must b so sad. Sad that you’re no longer alive to enjoy life. Sad to see that the neighborhood you lived in and loved is in rubble. Sad to see that people you knew and loved are in such pain.

Hi. I didn’t know you…but I know you now…and I wish I didn’t.

A Letter to George Floyd:

Hi. I didn’t know you when you were alive…but I watched you die.

I’ve never seen a man die like that before. I never heard anyone call for help with such anguish.

I heard you call for your mother. When I have nightmares, I still call out for my mother. I yell, “Mommy! Mommy!”…because when I am truly scared I know my mother will help me…even though she’s been dead for years.

Hi. I didn’t know you, but I know where you died. I used to hang out in that neighborhood when I was a kid. It was a great neighborhood…different now…but I bet it’s still great.

Hi. I didn’t know you but you must b so sad. Sad that you’re no longer alive to enjoy life. Sad to see that the neighborhood you lived in and loved is in rubble. Sad to see that people you knew and loved are in such pain.

Hi. I didn’t know you…but I know you now…and I wish I didn’t.

Chapter One

I slowly opened my eyes.   A little sliver of light was trying to peek through the edge of the shade covering the window in my bedroom that over looked my back yard.  Normally, it was a pleasant light, but this morning it hurt my eyes,  so I quickly closed them again.

A few vivid images of a more than slightly out of control young woman dancing with abandon at Doyle’s last night flashed through my mind like a movie trailer…yeah, that was me.  I winced…a bad movie trailer.

I remember pulling out the little notebook I always carried and then writing down  my observations on all the drunken people around me.

They were dancing and drinking and…being mostly drunk myself…not knowing how pretentious I appeared and in fact…was.

But last night I did not care one straw.

I wondered what nonsense I had thought was so wildly insightful the night before when 4 (maybe more?) whiskey sours had given me such a false sense of importance.  Whatever it was it would be in my notebook.

I carefully and slowly turned my head on my pillow.  Lately I had had too many mornings like this one to know how painful a quick turning of the head could be.

I was…unfortunately…becoming very learned in the art of drinking…

And there it was…lying on my bedside table where I had thrown it last night.

Chapter Two

I had read someplace or perhaps been told by one of my  journalism professors that if you plan on writing “The Great American Novel”…which incidentally, I actually did…you should always carry a notebook or some other kind of recording device with you at all times in order to remember anything you may find memorable.

However…for the past year… weekend mornings had not proven to be very productive… or perhaps just not memorable.

Sometimes I was lucky to just be able to read the scrawls that I had “so importantly” jotted down the night before.  I picked my notebook up and blinked a couple of times to clear my vision.

My little notebook was not the standard reporter’s notebook that I always carried to work each day…stuffed into my messenger bag.

That size notebook would be too bulky to carry into bars or restaurants plus it would attract a lot of attention.

My “little notebook” was small enough to fit into any of my handbags or even the back pocket of my jeans.

These days I almost always just wore jeans and a tee shirt.   The color varied…black or white.  In the winter I added a blazer or jacket.  If I had a meeting…which was rare… I added a scarf.

It was pretty basic…some might even say boring…but it worked for me.

I flipped the notebook open and placed it in front of my half-opened eyes.  Squinting a little, I saw that I had only managed to scrawl on two pages and neither page had any of my trademark exclamation marks…well, well…

Two pages were hardly worth the effort it would take right now to decipher.  I was pretty sure it was just junk anyway…

I had been in a junk mood yesterday.