Before leaving his body, Dr. Black and I had one memorable
conversation, with me ambling along near the east coast of this great nation,
and he lying supine, nearly bedridden at his rocky ranch somewhere in Colorado
– a fine place, he assured us in many former invitations.
Needless to say, we never went.
His speech was slurred worse than a tippler intent on paintin’ the town and hangin’ the moon. Oh, this was not a drunkard’s drawl, but rather the result of a surgery-riddled tongue still brimming with tumors.
“Processors have reached their limits,” he insisted.
Guess he was wrong.