VIEWPOINT: so-called friend
He called himself Jack, but I forgot to ask where he came from. But one day, he suddenly appeared out of nowhere, flashing the cash. I thought to myself ‘Charlie my boy, there’s someone worth latching on to.’ He was more than generous; on reflection, he was reckless. He seemed to be independently wealthy, with no visible means of income. But bundles of wonga kept falling from his wallet, and I had a healthy desire to make sure some of it came my way. He was generous with his greenbacks in the bookmakers and with chips in the casino.
We had fabulous dinners and wild drinking binges; we were drunk most of the time! And the ladies were not backward in being forward, either; very friendly some of them turned out to be. Very. Oh yes, indeedy. And some of them were not all that lady-like.
Jack seemed surprised when suddenly there wasn’t anything else to spend. I slipped away that evening, when it started to be embarrassing. He was asking for credit, and making promises I knew he couldn’t keep.
And then the famine struck, and I was in trouble. I had to leave the city, and eventually made my way to the borders, where I became a refugee, and had to beg. I was probably lucky to survive.
I never heard what happened to Jack. I hope he made it, but with an attitude like his, he was just asking to be taken for a ride. It would have taken something as dramatic as an act of God to save his bacon.
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