“No, not that kind of revealing. I just have bad luck with social media, I guess.”
Stewart returns to his phone, and I filter through my messages. Since posting the pic of me shifting in Central Park, a bunch of people want to schedule an interview for their blog, YouTube channel, talk show, magazine… I lose track. Others want to heal me from the devil. A few beg to have sex. Several express detailed plans to hunt and kill me. Skeptics accuse me of faking the whole thing to get attention. I get so overwhelmed I delete the entire account.
Then there are Eddie’s text messages. Hundreds. He is desperate to contact me, but his words have grown disjointed. I barely read them. There is nothing to be done for him. Maybe there never was.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish