That's Wiiild

I referenced goodbye chocolates the other day.
Those monsters hit the tongue like a blossom, and the stomach like a vicious beast of lead.

It's the big night.
My last night in the big white house.

Sarah's been my guiding force all afternoon. She chatted with her perfect British accent, consoled, and folded and organized as I piled the last year of my life into two black suitcases.
She forced me to call the people who never paid me the 50 euro I'd babysat for.
I've got a sweet, orange, 50 euro bill sticking out of my back pocket.
I love you Sarah.

I came home about half an hour ago from a goodbye visit to Sabine. I couldn't leave without one last chat with McBine. It was a normal chat. Sitting on her couch, in our regular places, filling each other in and laughing at memories. All was well until, on my way out the door, she mentioned the lasagna she'd eaten for dinner. Lasagna shouldn't trigger my tear duct, but apparently it does.
Bine and I have something of a history with lasagna.
All winter long we'd wind up at her place saying "Well...I could go for some lasagna...". It wasn't some kind of joke or kitschy thing between us. We just both happen to really like lasagna.
I bawled the whole way home.
No more Bine.
No more lasagna.
No more nights of wine and laughter in forests and on hilltops.


Tomorrow I'll step out of green, temperate Germany, and into 110 fucking degree Las Vegas.

Here goes.