So I'm going on sunday drives on saturday...

hmmm....I'm out of sync with the population again.

I went up to lake dillon, just making the sunset.

The sunset was flirtatious with violet.

And I made a beeline for the suicide memorial bench, but its gone.

In its place are to nice wood and steel pipe benches, a few trees, and a scultpture of the kid who took her own life.

okay.

As I approach, I see a woman sitting there with a handercheif. she's bundled up in red winterclothes, with a white headband.

As I approached, she fled, sobbing loudly, watching me over her shoulder.

A mullet just got out of the pickup next to me.

Anyway, she looked to see if I knew her girl. I couldn't find the plaque, and I have to wonder if its still there.

She must live nearby, and come to this place often for the sunset...evening after evening, weeping over her lost, gone girl.

So sad. So lonely, like a chimp that refuses to accept that its baby is dead, clinging to the carcass, carrying it everywhere.

I could have said something, but in the main, I didn't feel up to this sort of encounter, now, in the bitter, bitter cold, with someone I hardly know, about someone who ended woefully, and I really have no idea who they are, either. Or were, anyway.

So I let her go. She'll be back. And so shall I.

Unless I scared her back onto a track of better mental health, but I don't think so. Longshot at best.

So I'm sitting there, right? A few people walk by, and I figure its time to consumate this sunset with a little of the deceptivley cruel sensimilla. I've been losing my keys and other personal items all week.

And I can't find my lighter. Its just fuckin' gone. Matches, here we go.

"Here's to you, sweetheart."

So I strike up my onee with matches. After three, I feel her spirit is working against me, resisting my karma, not letting me smoke my pot.

Goddam ghosts.

And I look at the ground. About five burnt out matches on the ground.

"Awwww,. Honey, this is gonna' look terrible."

And it suddenly occurs to me that I'm talking to her. I spooked my self out. Cool.

I look around to see if anyone is lookin', and laugh at myself.

But its fuckin' cold, right? SO I puff my weed, after I located my lighter, and stoke a smoke.

Cold. Real cold.

I think about giving the statue a kiss, but that's just too fucking morbid for my tastes.

Hey, everybody's gotta get some, right? And she'll never get another chance to kiss hot young flesh ever again.

Just trying to help out here.

No. Damn, I need help. No.

Allright. I leave, pondering the mother.

After about five steps, I feel a tug on my soul. Might've been the sensimilla, but I envisioned her sitting there, hanging out, looking at me quizzically, "Aren't you even going to finish your smoke?" in a perky, yet non-chalant way.

"Oh all right, baby. I'll finish my smoke, but then I gotta' go."

And I watched the sun submerge into the western skies.

I'm glad the mom didn't come back. I would like to talk to her, though.

I need some help, or my own tv show.