I met with Her last night, deep in the shadows not far from Granville and one of the main side streets that divide the two main pizzerias in competition with one another. She was there.
The Jealous One was not as I’ remembered her. Her indistinguishable hat was a true sign of her — it said “Foxy” and was pink with an insignia of a fox on the front. But she was hurting otherwise.
We had a secretive talk for about twenty minutes. I bought her some food and gave her some pocket change. Child’s play. She’s taught me to do these little things for her.
There are three (probability) streams I see as happening.
First one is frozen stasis. That’s 20%. She continues to limp around, she continues to refuse to make progress.
Second one is a sudden breakthrough. That’s 20%. She flings herself into my arms with a cry of love and relief and joy. 20%, remember. But I’m not counting on it.
The third stream of possibility — 60%, by far majority — is that she licks her wounds and whelps her ass hi’ing it back to Ontario from the shores of the Pacific where we are now. Prob’ly happen around November-to-‘my-birthday. A present unlike any other.