Here’s a long autobiographical story by Patrick about his time in Missouri. I found two versions, one from 2011 and another from 2013. I spent a couple of hours editing the latter (mostly typos and formatting) and am posting the result here.
The airlines wouldn’t let us fly, so Mari and I returned to the States from Holland on the S.S. Rotterdam. Mari was in a stupor induced by Thorazine, little red capsules that she had to pop two or three times a day. It seemed pretty crazy to me that she could travel by ocean liner, but not airliner. Seven days, if I remember correctly, with nothing but sea in all directions. She could fall or jump. On a plane, I’m pretty sure I could have kept her in her seat for a few hours, and anyway what harm could she have done?
A friend met us at the dock in New York and took us to his apartment in Freeport until we figured out how to get to Missouri. I had sold my car before expatriating, or so I thought, two years before. Continue reading “Real Kill”