And so Patrick just threw him down on the mattress, like, really hard, and immediately, Oddvar started throwing up all over the side of the bed.

It got all over my shoes and Patrick’s shoes and Mo’s shirt, and we were all just like: Fuck, man! What the fuck?

And right when he was done, like, right after the last little bits of it came out of his mouth, Oddvar just cocked his head back onto the pillow and fell asleep. He was just like: PLOP, and, instantly, he was out.

And Patrick was like: I’m gonna wake this motherfucker up right now and throw him out on the street. I mean, seriously, Patrick was pissed. He was about to do some military shit.

But I was like: Patrick, it’s fine, man. Let him sleep. The housekeepers will clean this up in the morning.

And so Patrick just kind of threw his hands up in the air and left the room. He didn’t even say good night to me or anything.

And I looked at Oddvar for a second—he was lying there snoring and shit, and for the first time all night, he looked kind of peaceful, you know? Like, he almost kind of looked like his old self—but then he started humming “Love Hug” in his sleep, and so I left the room.

And the next day when I woke up and went to go check on him, he was gone. No note, no apology, nothing. He had cleaned up all the vomit and like, made the bed, and gathered up all his shit, and he was out of there. It was like he was never there in the first place.

And I sent him an email being like: What the fuck, man? Where’d you go?

But I haven’t heard anything back from him.

#56—Left lower stomach. This is the face of that woman who tried to kill me in Australia. For the longest time, I kept thinking I was seeing her all over the place, you know? Like, I’d think she was gonna turn up on the street in L.A. or like, show up at a concert in Oklahoma, and so I just thought like, if I just put her on my body, at least she’ll always be there with me. There will be nothing left to fear. Sometimes, I just think about that woman’s life. For whatever reason, I imagine that it’s super-fucking-normal. Like, I bet she’s a school nurse or something. I bet her family doesn’t have any clue what she tried to do to me. I didn’t have a picture of her or anything, so I just described her face as best as I could remember it to Optimus, and he tatted it as I went along. It was like a police sketch or something, except it was in black ink and it was on my stomach. That’s where she almost cut me.

#38—Right ankle. This is Jessie, the little Pomeranian we used to have in St. James. My parents got her around the time that I was born, and she died when I was like, six or seven, I think. My dad accidentally closed the garage door on her one day, and we were all SO sad. LOL.