Then he stopped breathing…

Social-EraThe cryptic title for a cryptic story undoubtedly. But I’m going to lay out all of the information that I have so that you understand why I think Greg is dead. Firstly, I haven’t spoken to him for over a year, and that’s practically dead to me especially in the era of social media, you think he would send out an update or something like “Hey all, I’m dead now.” But then again he hasn’t ever been very thoughtful.

First, The day he arrives he told me he was being moved into this big huge house in Sunny Isles (I don’t know, some place in Miami). I know it’s big and huge because I looked up the people he told me about ‘Brosda and Bentley.’ I looked them up because when anyone says they’re associated with Bentley, I don’t trust it, and he doesn’t have that much money. So exhibit A, he moved into a fantastic house that is worth a lot of money that he was just too young to have access to. Greg, a guy who had to skip school lunches and shopped at GAP for holidays, has now moved into a place called Sunny Isles? I’m not buying it.

skipping school in sunny isles beach flSecond, he kept complaining about the weather, looked peckish and didn’t finish his food. He acted like somebody who was worried about being assassinated. I believe that he will be or has already been assassinated based solely on his behavior. He seems like a side character in a movie that is supposed to be the trigger for the main character to go find out who did it. But he was neither a good person, a good friend, and I am certainly not the kind of person who would go after gangsters after they killed my friend. My hands are shakey enough as is, thank you very much.

Chateau-Beach-in-Sunny-IslesThird, he used to sell drugs and deal with gangsters. Back in high school, he threw the best parties because he was always accessible to drugs because his dad was an addict and owned a liquor store. But after his dad got arrested in 2008, he lost his connection and wanted to get out of town. One could say he orchestrated this whole ordeal out of his selfishness of which he very much is.

And that’s all the evidence I got. My drug dealer friend moved into the Chateau Sunny Isles, a place he’s not even from and one of the most expensive homes in Miami; became very paranoid about being eaten by crocodiles and then disappeared. I’m sure he must be golfing somewhere or living an honest profession. But there, we’ve sealed up that loose end right now. Yes, I think he’s probably dead. Now if you guys would stop e-mailing me about why I don’t see him or why I don’t go to confirm that would be great. This isn’t some website where you can casually read to enjoy your curiosity; this is an exercise so I can keep my hands busy long enough not to walk into traffic.

I really should make this whole blog private, but I do enjoy some of the dialogue between you dear readers, so keep it coming, ask me more trivial things about my life like how my mom died or something.