Not yet. What’ll we do?
Don’t ask me, said my other self. If he dies, we die. No more work, no moola. Let’s talk something else. Is that his address book?
That’s it.
Flip through, there’s got to be someone still alive and kicking.
Okay. I flipped. There go the A’s, the B’s and C’s! Dead! Check the D’s, E ’s, F’s and G’s!
Dead!
I slammed the book shut, like the door of a tomb.
He was right: his friends, his enemies—it’s a book of the dead.
That’s colorful, write it down.
Colorful, Jesus! Think of something!
Hold on. How do I feel about him right now? That’s it! Gangway! We’re going back!
I opened the door and stuck my head in.
“Still dying?”
“What does it look like?”
“A stubborn ass.”
I came in the door, walked in, and towered over him.
“Better close up?” said Walter.
“Not stubborn. Mean. Hold on while I gather my spit.”
“I’m holding,” said Walter. “Hurry up, I’m almost gone.”
“Would that were true. Now listen up!”
“Don’t stand so close, I can feel your breath.”
“This is not mouth-to-mouth, just a reality check: now hear this!”
Walter blinked. “Is that my old chum, old pal?” A shadow crossed his face.
“No. Not old chum, old pal.”
Walter beamed. “Sure, that’s you, old buddy!”
“Since you’re almost dead, it’s time for a confession.”
“I should be the one to confess.”
“Me first!”
Walter closed his eyes and waited.
“Shoot,” he said.