Every night, four beers, three or four gins, bottle of wine, brandy at bedtime, topped off with a Xanax. That’s a lot of alcohol, man. You can’t get used to life without your wife.
I don’t know which was worse: losing my girl or my white‐over‐blue Monte Carlo.
My friends in the Midwest had warned me about New York.
“You’re crazy going there without job,” they said. “New York will chew you up and spit you out.”
For thirty years you were my support and my strength. I would rely on you in the most mundane of matters. In a grocery store, I would call you on the mobile phone and ask you something stupid like,
TOR HOLSTRÖM drifted into New Orleans like a tropical breeze, inviting yet elusiveness . He was a rakish figure, tall and lean, fair hair tousled in the wind. Here was a man who moved lightly through life.
