this morning #1030.

this morning, without a shred of warning, whilst out taking the pup for a quick walk around the block, my pop called. i asked “what’s up?” he said “nothing much.” said he just wanted to talk. said it’s been a while. i suppose that two weeks is a “while” for us but the quiver in his voice told me that there was some deeper reason for his call. we shot the shit about the mets for a sec & then, mid-story about doc gooden, he broke down. sob story. he misses her. every day. doesn’t know why she had to move out. why couldn’t they work things out? doesn’t seem to grasp the finality of her choice. he’s clearly hurting but i can’t be the one to set him straight. not today, at least.