Anti abandons the internet.

so my sober-living, halfway-house, diabetic, old-man sign-helper-guy almost died yesterday.

whitey ended up rolling with me on the sign job and when riley, the old dude, was slumped over in a sweaty mess in my back seat, we knew shit had hit the fan. diabetic shock, i guess. (aka, the dude needs to eat like a snickers bar, or drink a coke.)

so me and whitey are thinking: do we dump his ass behind the first circle k that we find and poor a 40 of king cobra over his head so it looks like he relapsed? do we call 911? do we try and take his ass back to his halfway house place? should we check his pulse?

we ended up buying some pop and trying to slap his face to wake his ass up to drink the vanilla coke.

in the end, everythings fine, and he's all good now, and everyone's busy forgetting about it. but i DO feel bad.. like i whored him out too hard, or like i should have been easier on him. but FUCK, that's the gig... that's why "helper" is a shitty position. i got treated like a slave, now it's his turn. he's just not cut out for this shit.

so to top it all off... he got fired.

sucks to be riley...