Start at the beginning is what they say and I used to think that there was no other option. I guess I should say that I used to think this before I started doing memory work with my brain doctor talking person up in her air conditioned office. The one with a clear view north to the mountains in good weather or the grey smear of clouds and the supercilious glint from the downtown towers of otherwise October. Just start, she’d say, just start, and let’s see where we end up. I’d equivocate, of course. Shuffle in my seat, mumble something incoherent, stall, hope for an interruption. A phone call, maybe a frantic knock at the door, or an unavoidable rush of incontinence that demanded we clear the room, heck why take any chances, may as well evacuate the entire floor, send everybody home, take the rest of the week off. In that interstitial moment of hesitation and avoidance I’d swear to myself that I’d stop it with the late night walks down to Chronic Taco for the picante carne asada, and you know what, why even fuck around, I might as well go vegan. Heroic rescue has never been in the cards for me so I’m left with Dr Wisconsin placidly observing my squirm and I say, “I met Gyneele Thurston at a Hopeless Glamour show at the Underground Junction some time in late 2001 after the Towers came down and everybody was sure that the world was going to end. I met Parker through G that night though we didn’t really say much to each other. Parker was sitting at a table with a candle on it wearing some sort of floppy hat and I thought that she was a ‘Burner. But she was with G and G only associated with people who, often despite my initial critique of their sartorial decisions, ended being pretty cool. Sometimes they were the sort of people who changed your life forever. | image by @steoville