In my last two daylogs, here and especially here, I mentioned Celeste, a 14-year-old girl whose condition, a cancerous brain tumor, has been declared terminal.

For those of you feeling charitable, I will be one of many people running in her honour (and, quite possibly, her memory) this April. The sizable team was organized through her high school. If you have an interest in sponsoring me, please click here.

Of course, we've had experience with similar sad passings closer to our virtual home, and you may have your own places to give and ways to contribute. That would be fine, too.

An old memory,

We had come back in the cars from the club, back to the bar we frequented. Late on, the doors locked, just us boys and some of the lassies we knew. One of them lassies was a bit older. We knew fine well she was one of the top mens girl. We knew they'd been arguing. We'd known all night that trouble was on its way in. It was fucking inevitable.

We'd just poured some drinks out and turned on the music. Low, it was a lock in after all. The last of the pills were being taken, time to start thinking about a joint and a jaunder home. That's when the thud on the door came. We thought it was polis at first, but then there was a crack and the door came right in. Yer man came hurtling in behind the broken door and into the bar. He smacked one boy over the face that was sitting beside herself and threw her off the barstool onto the floor.

I don't know if we were too wasted to react or just too scared by this cunts rep to do anything, but by the time we'd even got off our seats she's knealing on the floor, he's standing over her. He has a knife in one hand pressed against her cheek and a gun in the other hand. He fires it off a few times, wildly, when we try to get near.

I can't remember all the details. I think I blanked a lot of it out. But that image of her, as he drew that blade over her face. I can't wipe that out.

I am now 27.

Here's to many more years in this beautiful city.

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