Monday: Jim goes upstairs. I recall him wearing a lavender silk shirt. Just why I have this memory haunts me, but so does a lot of stuff. He goes into a room vivid with new flowers. Does this sound too flowery? I meant no pun – I really did. I go upstairs as well, and when I go into the flowery room, I feel like I am intruding. “Am I intruding?” I ask Jim, but he simply shrugs that disheveled shrug of his and randomly starts complaining about his liver. Another memory to haunt my ass. See what I mean?
Tuesday: I see Jim wandering hungrily about the beach. How, you are wondering, does one wander hungrily? Well, don’t eat for a few days and take a walk. It’s really that simple.
Wednesday: A knock on my door. I look at the clock: three AM. Jim bursts into my apartment. Walks into the bedroom and throws up.