broken memories. (a personal essay by Roxxy Haze)
I was leaving a show and I called him. He never answers, but I would still call. It’s part misguided optimism, part masochism. Sometimes, I just want to feel something, anything, even if it’s pain.
He answered. He was driving around and was close to another comedy club I frequent. Because, I was a comedian I could get free tickets to all the shows. I told him to meet me there.
He got out the car and…