HAPPINESS IS A WARM GUN, April 28, 1968

I was home once again, and I guess it was time to face my demons. There she was, Molly, glowing and pregnant. I wouldn’t be surprised if she hit me.

"How’s it going, Jude?"

I wondered if she was going to put me through a guilt trip again. She probably was.

"I’m okay…when did you and Phil hitch up?"

"Two weeks after you stopped writing."

I was pleased for her. She has a child on the way.

"What was her name? The reason you stopped writing?"

Lucy. That was all I had to say. Again. I was sorry for what I did. But I see she moved on, with
Phil Scully. She knows I shook my head at that. But Lucy…it was good for a while, but it seemed a little unreal.

"Is this real enough for you?" she asked me coldly before she walked away with scumbag Scully himself. What a limey.

I heard from Sadie that Max was wounded and came back to America. He was officially done serving his country. He went back to the normal big city life as a taxi driver. It was good to know he was safe and sound again. Alternatively the roads weren’t too safe yet. The riots intensified and became a bit more dodgy and perilous. I just wish that Lucy stays safe. She shouldn’t put herself out there like that anymore. Max is home and she shouldn’t have to fight anymore. I picked up a copy of the Liverpool Echo and the headline caught my eye. AMERICAN ANTI-WAR RADICALS KILLED IN HOMEMADE BOMB BLAST. It was Paco’s building. Now I’m really worried. Was she killed? I thought it was the other side that made bombs. If she knew that, she wouldn’t go through with this. I know it. At least I think I do. I have to know for sure. I have to get back there. I don’t know how, but I know I have to.

Labels: journal entry