Chronicle 131 ~Can’t We B Friends~

Who’s your best friend? I’d like to say a pretty girl. More to the point, Braxton would say over my dead body, and here we are. Well, minus both girl and dog. There’s a lot of pretty girls in this city but only one Braxton. So Why Can’t We B Friends?

Tuesday, November 9, 2021

Chronicle 131 ~Can’t We B Friends~

Dear Future Wife,
I AM a Billionaire right now, but also a Boy as in, “that’s my boy.’ A Brother. A Better man, aka Daddy.

Ah yes, what about, husband? Before that Betrothed? If you haven’t noticed, I’ve been reading another book “This Dog’s Afterlife.” It has a couple losing a dog and another losing a kid but anyway. How about a Boyfriend? Good times.

Further back even, a Best friend, right? Nobody tells you how to be these things. If I were my father, I’d throw some money at it and consider myself a good man. These days I’m less and less of one I know. Of course, I failed way before now. Even more than the 282 Days since B III’s been gone. I’m tired. You put up with my ass when I had the old-day job. You survived my madness back then, but B III didn’t. I envy him every so often.

Some days like today. I should have stopped myself sooner. Working for people I hated, and it’s cost me the one I love. Then it’s a fucking domino effect; pardon my language. I’ve been down for so long, and I ain’t getting up any time soon. Well, then I’m disgusted. Getting “up?” There’s some things you don’t tell your friends. Keep it “In The Closet.” No, I don’t mean like that. I’ll entertain dark “passions” over hatred forever, baby girl. Impossible as it may seem. As my best friend lay dying, I had no idea who I was or what. So every single day, it’s like I’m living some sort of character and the real me? It’s Kill Bill and, wiggle your big toe Love.

A friend might tolerate all my pop culture references; a best friend would get them all. And then there was Braxton. He would be right here listening to “Ben,” “Would You Be There,” and “In The Closet,” thinking to himself. “Women ain’t nothing but trouble.” Braxton was/is the boy, as the kids say, “kept it 92 plus 8.” Oh, um, and you, my Baby Doll. You could ask anything of me, anything at all. Your wish is my command, but in this, my lost son. I know I must sound like a fool which explains why I don’t have many friends. If I did, though, I wouldn’t go around killing them. Where’s Braxton’s privilege there? That doggie in the window. Why Can’t We B Friends

282 Days Without B III

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,

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