In the final stages of moving from the deep south to a northern state.

I used to run a shop under a corporation. Long story, but I integrated the shop, and built something beautiful. I had to use a temp service to do a lot of my hiring, I hired lots of black folks because they were undervalued and I could give them a good environment and pay. Was just starting to hire women. COVID and Qanon blew it the fuck up.

Tomorrow I’ll be having lunch with two of my former crew. One of them is the only man I’ve ever called brother. He was my neighbor and best friend for years. I would have trusted him to help me hide a body. The other feller was a kind and gentle guy, had a bad divorce but was a teddy bear, was on the road back up.

They both went down the rabbit hole real bad.

I miss who they were and the shop we had. It was fucking jazz. I protected all of them from corporate. We made shit happen. I fought to get them more money and got fucked over myself.

I’ve lost my parents, my grandfather, my aunts and uncles and cousins to the insanity. Thank jeebus my grandmothers and one grandfather are dead.

Tomorrow I’m going to hug my brother and tell him goodbye. He isn’t really my brother anymore. I don’t trust him. I love him. He’s not the man I knew.

It hurts a lot. It broke my heart.

*Edit

Lunch was good but rough. My son got to see me cry for the first time, afterwards, so I guess that was good.

Then my closest former friend came over this evening. Texted my girl:

“Holy fuck. Joe has some sort of grandpa weed that he he’d be saving. I hit once and I’m all fucked up. They smoked a whole blunt. Then I learned about how taking ivermectin was a good preventative and that Susan is actually a Mayan priestess discovered through astral projection.”