Ricky Bobby
About a week ago, this southern 6’5″ sequoia of a man texted me through a bad night I was processing- literally all night! He had immediate empathy being prior service, he’s gone through some shit… in and out of combat. The following Monday in the early hours, Charlie Sheen came over and I wrote about that night and the previous weekend leading up to it. Writing about it was cathartic, living it was peptic. I’ve been in touch with this lean, green, killing machine on and off regularly. I can dig him, he’s a good talker. My age-ish, weathered by life experiences, a gentle giant. He read through the entirety of my blog the night we first starting chatting- speed reader, god damn. Our schedules appear difficult to coordinate, so I’ll take what I can get as far as communication and seeing each other. He hits me up in the wee hours of Tuesday morning, and I’m in. I was open to having sexual relations with that wiry giant, mostly though I was excited to meet him in the flesh. He’s been drankin’ and I’m assuming that’s a regular gig for him- not my business, I don’t ask.