Pandemic Journal, July 17, 2020
Hwy there. Obviously, I’m not Logan or Tommy. You might have seen me on the basketball court occasionally over the last year. My name’s Ralph Robles, and this is Becca, my better half. My much better half, in fact.
The other two guys are out at a hospital emergency room to help one of the boys in Tommy’s group for at-risk teenagers. I’m not going to tell you his name or answer any questions, except to say that his parents don’t speak much English. The guy’s father came unglued when he caught the kid kissing another boy, and beat him unconscious. His mother called Tommy from the ER. I’ll let you know more if I learn anything else.
There’ are a bunch of messages piling up. We’ve got one from, oh, it’s from Coach. Let’s see here, “How did you dumb co …. mother …… people manage to miss the playoffs this year?” Well, Coach, I guess we needed you to guide us. Not like we didn’t have the highest-scoring team in basketball this year, and without the last-minute rule changes we’d have been fine. Anyway, I thought you were retired already.
Here’s one from Samuel T. in Florida. It’s for Becca. “Do you put out?” I gotta tell ya, Sammy, does she ever. You oughtta be here when the four of us get going. Man, it’s like nothin’ you’ve ever experienced. All three of us at once. What? It’s a joke, babe, don’t you see I’ve got the mute button pressed? Whaddaya mean, that’s not the mute button. Oh, shit. Listen, Tommy and Logan will be back next week. Stay safe.
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