Franky likes to ask you where you’re “at” all the time. Location matters to him. It’s his way of keeping tabs on you. And by you, I mean me.
“I don’t know,” I say, giving him the round-the-mill answer. “In some ways, I’m over here. In other ways, I’m over there. My body could be in one place, but my mind could be elsewhere.”
I say this because I’ve already used Los Angeles, San Diego, and Cleveland for an answer.
And he says, “Where you at?”
And I say, “You know Franky. I don’t know where I am, but I know where you are. In my mind.”
That should give me another couple days.