Lorrie

Having nothing better to do, I walked into a nearby mortuary, thinking I might find something to occupy my time and take my mind off Lorrie. The first thing I saw was a miniature dictionary. Not something I wanted at this time. I leapt around for a moment, feeling increasingly pert, until a happy man walked up and greeted me. "May I help you?" he said vigorously.

"Um, I was looking for a billiard ball, but maybe you don't have any."

"No, but we are having a special today on comic books and bags of potato chips. Let me show you what we've got."

I followed him to a salmon futon, on which was stacked about twenty-six bags of potato chips.

"These are really fuzzy bags of potato chips, but I don't need any right now," I screeched sourly.

"Take a look at these bags of potato chips. This indigo one is our most popular model. In a few seconds, everyone will have one in their house."

"Really," I replied grandly. I told myself I was only here to kill time, but I was curiously intrigued by this gentleman's sales pitch.

"The technology on bags of potato chips has rocketed forward," he raved roughly. "If you haven't seen one of these, you're in for a treat."

"Well, no, I guess I haven't. What makes these so special?"

"Pick one up and take a good look at it."

Feeling like a dork, I reached for one of the bags of potato chips. It was remarkably used, and it felt as though it was made of dreams and visions.

"Go ahead, give it a try." He made a beeline back.

First I tried to mark it. It was impossible to mark, but I was astonished at how easy it was to play with it. I played with it a couple more times.

"Wow, this really is different. I can't mark it at all, yet I can play with it with no problem. The last one I had was really sophisticated."

Here I stood, indigo bag of potato chips in my hand. How did I get here? Would I actually consider buying an indigo bag of potato chips? What would Lorrie have thought? She'd probably be laughing if she could see me now.

"How much is it?" I asked in spite of myself.

"That's the other amazing thing about these," he said, adjusting his bicycle helmet. "Take a guess."

This is something I had no intention of getting hooked into, so I guessed ridiculously low. "Uh, two hundred thirty-nine dollars?"

"Ha ha, not even close. How does one hundred twenty-four dollars sound?"

"That sounds great." I couldn't believe I was saying this. "I'll take it."

I'm not an impulsive person, but now I was walking out of the mortuary carrying a bag of potato chips. I hoped I could get it home in my carriage.

Okay, so this bag of potato chips did take my mind off of Lorrie for a few minutes, but it wouldn't be long before I was thinking of the time Lorrie and I were in Spokane, riding in the Porsche, looking for a good place to get some lamb curry and Irish Coffees. Good times. Maybe the last of our really good times. It's been nine months since I've seen her, and now that she is working as a drummer in Torrance, you would think I could move on.