months, weeks, days.

“‘Where have you been?’

‘Huh? Whaddaya mean?’

‘I been looking all over for you for a week now. ’

‘Here I am.’

‘I checked all the bars. No luck. Then I ran out of ideas.’

‘Stupid.’

‘I went in for a triple Seagram’s to go at Bab’s. Some brute picked me up and threw me into the stage.’

‘Why?’

‘I was trying to cut through the dance floor. Didn’t care to move aside when I asked I guess.’

‘Idiot. You, not him. Hurt yourself?’

‘Leg’s been a bit tender.’

‘Ugh. Let me see it…Jesus, Frank. It’s putrid. Infected.’

‘Ah. Yea, there may be some splinters in there working their way out. I put some drawing slave on it.’

‘It’s oozing. Is that bone?’

‘It’s fine. I’m walking aren’t I?’

‘Go to the doctor. The ER. Before they have to cut it off.’

‘Bah…Take me over, will ya?’

‘Nah. But go. It’s black blood. That ain’t good.’

‘That’s the salve. Besides my leg’s been bothering me for years. I’ve been to a few doctors.’

‘What’d they say?’

‘One said it was juvenile arthritis. The other said adult diabetes. Go figure…Ohh…’

‘Frank, don’t touch me.’

‘Sorry, little dizzy.’

‘Don’t grab at my bare legs like that.’

‘Sorry.’

‘It’s just a little too…familiar.’

‘Listen, I came to let you know I’m headed back to Jersey. This is your last chance to treat me like a human being, Iris. Won’t see the likes of me again.’

‘You’ll be back.’

‘Me? I’ll be dead soon enough the way I’m carrying on. It’s only a matter of months, weeks, days.’

‘Sit down for a minute.’

‘You know I still got the handkerchiefs you bought me.’

‘Ought to have tied one around your leg. Here, eat this.’

‘No cheese? Anyway, I want you to hold on to a few things for me.’

‘What things?’

‘Paintings. Books. A few of my large canvases anyway. Space in the Chevy is at a premium.’

‘Anything cheery I might want to hang?’

‘Hang me. What do you think? Just…throw’em in the garage.’

 ‘My garage is damp.’

‘So’s my whole place…So there’s a new guy? A singer?’

‘Bassist. But, yes.’

‘Whatever. How long will that last? Months, weeks, days?

‘Don’t worry about it.’

‘Anyway, I’ll drop the stuff off in your drive before I head out Friday. Haul’em inside or the garbage man will haul’em to the dump. Either way. I don’t care…He’s cute, your bassist…He followed me home yesterday. Yelling that I am a asshole for stopping by your place.’

‘No!’

‘Yea. Driving down the street yelling out the window as I bobbled along.’

‘No!’

‘Said he’d get me locked up for public intoxication. For drunk walking. Honestly, I’m the asshole?’

‘So much drama! Who has the time?’

‘Listen, I should go before I either fall down or grab a whisky bottle and smash it over my head.’

‘Bye, Frank.’

‘Guess that’s it... What happened, Iris?’

‘I’m sorry, Frank. I loved you very much. For a time.’

‘Ouch. That’s tough.’

‘What’s tough?’

‘First love. Broken, bleeding. I had the idea once, that—’

‘Please—’

‘Got a light?’

‘Nasty habit.’

‘One of many…Thanks.’

‘Whatever.’

‘Okay, well, on that note, I’m outta here.’

That’s it.”

“That’s it? He left after that?”

“Yea, I yelled after him, ‘Frank! Frank!’ But he was gone.”

“And that’s the last you saw him?”

“Yes, sir. May I ask what this is all about? Has he done something stupid?”

“This morning a ’73 Impala was found head first in the Atchafalaya off I-10. Whiskey Bay.”

“That sounds like his. What happened?”

“Cain’t say. But we are dredging the channel. And, we’ll continue dredging tomorrow sun-up. All day if need be. But after that, I’m afraid—”

“I understand. Months, weeks, days. You can’t do it forever.”