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(continued)

Vancouver, WA

May 1st, 2019

He waited until the cops came and then gave them his story. The other patrons at the bar corroborated his words, despite the fact that Clinton didn’t stop yelling at him until the cops took him away and put him in the car. He was going in to get booked and possibly kept for the next couple of days. Tony didn’t know if he had any priors or not, but with Clinton it was usually hard to tell. He’d tried to live a decent and good life back when they’d been friends, but thanks to the women he’d allowed into his life he’d always seemed to get into trouble somehow. In many ways Clinton was a creature of habit, he would always run towards trouble no matter how much he said he wanted to avoid it.

After giving his statement Tony was on his way home when he decided to stop off at the waterfront. It wasn’t on the way home, in fact it was nearly five miles away from home, but he wasn’t ready to head there just yet. His wife would understand, she was the one that had sent him out for the night to get his head right, or so she’d said. He didn’t know how he’d gotten so lucky so long ago when they’d met, nor why she put up with him sometimes.

Oh he knew actually, but Tony also knew that he could be a rather difficult person sometimes, especially when it came to people passing away. When her grandfather had passed away he’d been for her, and when his had passed away he’d been there for her since she had felt the loss with more pain than he had. Maybe that wasn’t right, he did feel the pain, but for years now he’d been the rock that others had leaned upon when everything seemed to be going wrong. No one had asked him to do this, he’d taken it upon himself, and not once had he bemoaned the position.

He just wasn’t the crying type, and hadn’t been in many years. Emotions weren’t an alien thing to him, but he didn’t feel them the way others did, nor did he break down as others did. His wife was always bugging him about how he allowed all his emotions to bottle up and then uncorked them at the wrong times. He couldn’t disagree, it had happened so many times now that one might have thought he would have taken steps to prevent it.

But it was habit now. He held everything in, allowing everyone else to vent, to feel their emotions around him, and taking it all in rather than joining in. Sitting upon the grainy surface of the riverbank he couldn’t help but wonder when he’d become so cold to the emotions he’d once felt so easily. He could cry, he felt that, but he didn’t want to. He could feel, and he did frequently. But when it came to expressing those feelings in front of others there seemed to be a serious disconnect that he couldn’t fix.

What did that mean for tomorrow?

(to be continued)

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