At the Revolution Cafe a young woman walked up to me at the bar and said, “My best friend just killed herself.” I gasped and expressed my sympathy, and asked if she was all right.
“I’ve always wanted to say that,” she turned away from me and ordered a drink.
“You what??”
“Sorry,” was all she said.
I was left dumbfounded while she chatted away with the bartender. She could have played the game longer and I would have been a very cooperative victim. But what she had wanted was a double shock, which I supplied, and that was enough for her.
I sat and pondered on this strangest episode and could not come up with a satisfactory answer. The cafe was filled with people now. Noisy, rowdy, liquor flowing profusely. She ordered another drink.
Despite my mother’s expressions of disapproval, I just murdered my older brother.