All of these women have different stories to tell and each are selling their bodies for their own personal reasons. I could simplify those reasons and say it’s all about money to get drugs, but that would be too easy and would only be scratching the surface.

When I found out more about the dog late this past fall, I felt bad for what I’d been thinking all those months. I didn’t like the dog — whatever its name was. Turns out it didn’t even have one.

The elevator wasn’t moving. I looked at the digital sign in it. It kept flashing ‘7,’ then ‘G’ over and over again. I pressed ‘7’ again. Again, the elevator didn’t move. Stuck. I finally figured out I was stuck.

Patsy looks too young to have a small son. In fact, I didn’t know she did. I met him one afternoon two weeks ago. I wasn’t supposed to meet him at all, but I’m glad I was the one who was here to look out for him when he found himself with no family members around.

Since Thelma and her new husband Bill didn’t really exist, they couldn’t attend my grandmother’s funeral.

I realize I’m old school, but if I had requested someone to visit me and when that someone arrived, I would have taking that remote and turned off the television.

I’ve heard things happen for a reason. I’m not sure I buy that. All I know for sure, in the case of Joy and Randy, is I wish things could have worked out very, very differently.

I looked at my watch. It was a quarter after 6. I figured with it being early evening, Walgreens, up on Madison Avenue here in Covington, wouldn’t be that busy. I’d walk up there and get me another bottle.

On Labor Day, 1994, I got a phone call from twin brother’s friend in Seattle, Wash., where my twin, Jered, lived. This friend told me that Jered was in a Swedish Hospital in serious condition. He also told me Jered had AIDS. This was the first I’d heard about it.

Out on the stoop, I’m smoking a cigarette, which is a big mistake. Kris has noticed me. He lives in a building up the street and he’s a pain in the ass. As he approaches, I already know what he wants.

The last time Hope was in my life was early October, 1994. I had just come back from Seattle, Washington where my twin brother had died. We met at a bar in Price Hill. Hope and I got our drinks, went to a table and talked about my brother maybe for a couple minutes. Then we talked about bullshit things that didn’t matter. I remember feeling angry about it later, but Hope was just being Hope. Talking about real life wasn’t something she was interested in.

It’s hard for me to really say when my eyesight started to go so horribly bad. I guess it was more or less a gradual thing, but during the spring of last year, it seemed to suddenly worsen. More and more, I was living in shades of pale.

Strange sounds outside my apartment window in Covington have some along with the warmer weather. I often hear stray cats howling or even fighting early in the mornings. One recent morning in particular, they woke me up at five o’clock. It was a day I wasn’t really looking forward to.

If I ever see Charlene again, I have a few questions I’d like to ask. Whether I actually ask them is anybody’s guess. I noticed her about a year ago. I was living in Westwood and had gotten a ride to downtown Cincinnati to catch a T.A.N.K. bus to Kentucky. We were waiting at the same bus stop at Fourth and Main. It was a cold winter morning. Awaiting different buses, we sat on the same bench. She kept looking at me and maybe I was looking at her, too.

It had been more than 20 years since I’ve had to deal with a mouse in my living space. Nevermind the fact I was born and raised on a farm where I’ve seen mice in barns and even in houses. It’s been a long time since I’ve been a country boy, and having this rodent in my living quarters freaked me out.

I arrived a little too early for the meeting. Having a vodka and tonic at the Backstage Café in Covington, I was waiting for my editor to show up. It’s never a good thing when your editor wants to talk about your column and “the future.” I kind of knew the kind of future he wanted to discuss.

The young guy sitting on the bench to my left was high on something. He kept mentioning how he got caught “getting it on” by the girl’s boyfriend. “He went out to his truck to get a gun,” the guy said. “I got out of there quick, man, hightailed it.” I nodded my head at him as he spit on the sidewalk. He spit a lot.

It took three buses for me to reach her apartment in Colerain Township, but I was on a mission. I was determined to get a piece of my property back. Walking up to her apartment door, I had purpose. I would be polite but I’d be direct. I wanted the damn book back.