The morning is a blur. Coffee and pancakes for me. Sprite has a cigarette. At the end of the meal, she asks for my phone number. I give it on a menu. She stares at it for a while.
“Look Jackson, thanks. I mean really.”
I want to ask her a bunch of questions, but I just nod. Sparrow Sprite gets up, leaves a few bills on the table and waves goodbye. I’m frozen and just sit there watching her go. An idiot in a trance. My phone rings sometime later, breaking my stare.
“Hi Daisy.”
Daisy is my ex-wife. I would officially like to introduce her to you as the reason I’m so fucked up.
But instead I’ll tell you she’s a sweet country girl who got mixed up in heroin and pixie sticks.
Both are mostly true.
—continued