And fuck me if I don't pass him on the street out front, looking burned and buzzed and broke, panning for pennies. He's looking down, directly addressing people's knees as they pass him, "spare-change-spare-change-spare-change."
I stand in front of him until he looks up. He's got an ugly scar running over his eyebrow, and he looks right through me. *Where you been, Tony?* I want to ask it, can't. I'm a ghost. I give him a quarter. He doesn't notice.
#
I run into Stude the Dude and hatch my plan at Tilly the horse's funeral. I read the obit in the Globe, with a pict of the two of them. They buried her at Mount Pleasant Cemetery, with McKenzie King and Timothy Eaton and Lester Pearson. Stude can afford it. The squib said that he was going aboard the mothaship the day after the ceremony.
Lots of people are doing that. Now that we're members of the Confederation, we've got passports that'll take us to *wild* places. The streets get emptier every day. It's hard to avoid Dad's face.
Stude scares the shit out of me with his eulogy. *It's all in Process-speak*. It is positively, fricken eerie.
"My Life-Companion goes into the ground today."
There's a long pause while he stares into the big hole and the out-sized coffin.
"My Daily Road has taken me far from the Points of Excellence, and I feel like my life has been a Barrier to Joy for myself and for many others. But Tilly was a Special Someone, a Lightning Rod for Happiness, and her presence graced me with the Vision of Joy."
And so on.