Anyway, I was home next week, no call from the temp agency, when Oscar buzzed me from the street. Hadn't seen his a** in weeks, since the first days of his return. Jesus, Oscar, I said. Come up, come up. I waited for him in the hall and when he stepped out of the elevator I put the mitts on him. How are you, bro? I'm copacetic, he said. We sat down and I broke up a dutch while he filled me in. I'm going back to Don Bosco soon. Word? I said. Word, he said. His face was still f**ed up, the left side a little droopy.
You wanna smoke?
I might partake. Just a little, though. I would not want to cloud my faculties.
That last day on our couch he looked like a man at peace with himself. A little distracted but at peace. I would tell Lola that night that it was because he'd finally decided to live, but the truth would turn out to be a little more complicated. You should have seen him. He was so thin, had lost all the weight was still, still.