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December 19, 2002
"Where's that last vial of Jesus Christ?" I asked her in milky slow motion.

She looked at me with a candied gleam in her eyes.

"The fridge," she responded finally, "back behind the left-over meatloaf."

I should have remembered. But that's what happens these days:


• memories shift chronologically

• memories sometimes disappear completely

• memories may have been wholly imagined

Sunlight danced through the kitchen window, temporarily blinding me.

I think its Thursday.

I wander back to the girl who's sitting placidly on the oversized sofa.

She laughs, languidly.

"So where's that last vial of Jesus?" She asks, amused.