Mickey

I spoke to Mickey yesterday. Stephan told him that the shit has hit the fan in my world, and that I'm not cool as a cucumber. He wanted to say hi, to listen to me and to say some kind words. Didn't ask me about plans and shit, "what are you gona do?", "what is going to happen?"; just wanted to say without saying it that he worries about it, and to keep my nose above the water and things will eventually work out. And he fucking knows what he's talking about.

We spoke for about five minutes, perhaps less. Even though his phone call surprised me, knowing him, it didn't surprise me at all. Good guy, this Mickey friend of mine is.