As for that name, Wilma Reeds ... well something about it seemed familiar but I couldn’t place it. Probably someone I’d once read about in a newspaper.Apparently, a lot more time had passed since Pilsner’s near-death experience, early Sunday morning. I’d been out, unconscious and probably kept under sedation for nearly three days, from what I could tell by the report dates, the current Reality of Pilsner’s survival was going to be tricky to further adjust. I pulled up a chair next to his bedside and I clasped his good right hand and I began to concentrate hard. My head still was foggy, either from my past attempt to alter Pilsner’s fate or else from being drugged for three days, but we didn’t really have any more time to waste.Focusing hard, I could see that the odds of tweaking a more favorable diagnosis were there ... but increasingly remote. Still, I decided that I had to try and do my pal a better service this time around. Pushing against fate by just sheer will wasn’t going to. Not that I had any reason to think that a bad breakup was unavoidably predetermined, except, of course, for the cheating, soon-to-be ex. Who, in case I haven’t mentioned, lives next door to me. With her lover, a man-child whose arrested development my soon-to-be, etc., seems to think is a more attractive quality in a mate than, say, my own stodgy commitment to a helping profession.So, as you can see, I had plenty of thinking to do to keep my mind occupied, which is probably why she (soon-to-be, or STB, as I think I’ll call her from now on) chose that particular moment to interrupt me in order to remind me that, although we no longer live together, the planet might actually spin off its axis if I go too long without paying attention to her.She came out onto the small back stoop, saw me, and waved, almost shyly. I looked at her, but didn’t wave back. Pausing for a moment, she made a decision, and started walking over to me. “How are you doing?” she asked.“Pretty well,” I replied..
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