"It was really a messy situation if ever I found myself in one. I was also taking care of his dog, a gentle and very sweet natured Dalmatian pup. Jeff could not bring himself to clean the accumulated dogshit from the balcony. So, I did it. He was too wrecked or hungover to walk his dog. I did it. I took his calls, I bought his food, I cooked for him and fed him. I met his friends, all of them were into drugs and riotous living, or so it seemed. He appeared to have quite a network, and I think a lot of people, when they didn't pity him as a pathetic waste of DNA, were also drawn in by his charisma. And he wasn't a bad musician. He never really broke through but he did sound pretty good. nothing really outstanding, just a mediocre Rod Stewart wannabe, with Rod Stewart hair and a Rod Stewart face and a Rod Stewart taste for alcohol and drugs and sex.
I was of course, going through my own set of sorrows. I was recovering from my mother's death, and the death of my friendship with Doug, and as a Christian community we were already facing a very uncertain future. I had no idea what to do with the rest of my life, hence my desire to go to London, carry with me the manuscript for my novel and look for a publisher.
That was when one day after returning from a couple of days off from Jeff, I found him weeping in his apartment. He was clutching a letter announcing the murder of his ex lover in London. And he was being summoned by police to come there and visit them in Scotland Yard for questioning. We exchanged glances and through his tears Jeff said, it looks like we're going to London together and I could only nod in agreement... "
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