The story of a lonesome ol'Jerome
Watching the kettle, waiting for it to boil
As soon as I had finished with Twitter and Instagram, I realized I had forgotten to mention that I needed to find Gwyn soon. I added a comment to that effect, and counted on the fans to draw attention to it.
I went outside for a cigarette, checking the page and my messages every 30 seconds. No useful information, but lots of signal boosting. Good. I’ll find you. With their help, I will find you. Please forgive me when I do.
I typed up a quick message for the guys:
‘hung out with the girl that smashed that asshole in the balls at the signing last night. really like her. but had sex, shit got weird, now i need to find her and apologize before next show. her name is gwyn. see my tweet. i’ll be looking for her. meet you in tacoma if don’t see you at hotel.’
I did a google search for ‘gwyn Washington veterinarian’ and came up with nothing. What the fuck? Um…I tried ‘gwyn Oregon veterinarian’ and again, nothing. Frustrated, I checked on the progress of my posts. Still no info, but more re-tweeting, favoriting. What if ‘Gwyn’ wasn’t her real name? Fuck, then I had almost nothing!
Re-checking my Twitter was like watching paint dry, or a pot, waiting for it to boil. I decided to get a few hours of sleep. When I got up, I would try harder to track down where she worked, and then I would go there. If that didn’t work, I would call every Gwyn in the motherfucking phone book.
4/15/17