The battery got all yucky, so Scott and I threw it out.
We have no idea what happened to Walt, if he's dead or alive. Born in 1918.
What a history he has.
Will someone write his obit if he's dead?
HOPING
Walter and I met at the Willow Grove Staples
where he was buying a Scrabble dictionary.
He wanted to know if 'dipshit' was a word
he could use, dipshit as in idiot, but with
much more oomph.
I always loved Walter as a friend. He told me
about his three marriages, the suicide by plastic
bag of his favorite wife, who described him as
my moon, my stars and constellations, but her
diabetes was as painful as a double amputation
in the Civil War, with whiskey as a painkiller.
I'd visit him in his Regency Towers apartment
where he welcomed me with a glass of cranberry juice
a yogurt compote with fresh fruit, and readings
he produced from his walls of books.
Intelligent, debonair, refined, and always
attracted to members of the fair sex, I wish you
well, Walter Straus, wher-ere you are.
....
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