“Well, you know, not a constant chorus of infernal hymns or anything boring but a true garden of luxury where the lion layeth down with the lamb. Pretty much how I had it figured. This was back in ’93 and I haven’t touched drugs since, that is except for my lithium and the Mellaril. I can get a little cranked up without that therapeutic combo. Boy!”

The ER doctor shook my hand and then he shook Judith’s hand and told her, “Mrs. Marzuki, your husband is one of the most intelligent and fascinating persons I have ever met.”

Of course Judith wasn’t Mrs. Marzuki then. It was our first date. I hardly knew her. She was wearing a white blouse and because it was partly wet you could see through it. She had thin shoulders and large breasts—just a humongous set of ta-tas. I couldn’t wait to get my hands on them, but of course you never know. Sometimes a woman will look great in clothes and then you get her bra off and find cellulite or something and it’s all you can do to go through with the act. This is especially true of redheads. Their pussy hair is weird. My first wife, Shaundra, was like that. If the truth be known, I only married S. because I felt sorry for her.

Shaundra, man, back in those days I was a chef at Never on Sundays and Shaundra was making her way as a waitress. One time she came back to the kitchen in tears. She was extremely distraught. I said, “What is wrong, Shaundra?”