I got home from Gertrude feeling like a washed up piece of styrofoam on the scummy shore of a lake. And my closest earthly companion, whom I shall call Petrus, looked me over and said, "You look like crap. What's up with that?"
"I spent the night at Gertrude's house. Leave me alone. I need a shower,"
"Wait--where were you?"
"At Gertrude's. Over on 4th Avenue."
"Nobody lives there anymore. Did you sleep in an abandoned house or something?"
"NO! Gertrude's house is there." I watched him he looked perplexed, and worried about me. He wasn't kidding.
"I don't get it."