My father committed suicide in 1992, put a shot-gun in his mouth. I was 28 years old, we were estranged since I was a teen. A trigger hit me like a hurricane this week. I’m having memories, not the worst.
You put the the pressure on my shoulders to arrange everything, who to call. I had to face the chore of the house, a man living out of touch for many years. Worst was going to morgue, hand me original note and his bloody shotgun.
Could you not see your friends were different? They were thieves but not in the same universe. They all took advantage of you, move in move out and steal what they want. One roommate committed suicide with your gun in your house. Down on their luck, will make payments on car, he was lucky to get three payments. He would have to track down and…
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