“Freddie? Freddie, will you answer your door, for Pete’s sake? Come on, dude, open up! The neighbors are beginning to complain about all the loud crying and wailing.”

“SO?! Who cares about the stupid neighbors? Let them call the cops for all I care! Gertie’s gone and I don’t care about anything anymore!”

“Seriously, man, you gotta get over her.”

“How dare you trivialize my pain, Joey! I am mourning the death of the best relationship I ever had! How can you be so flippant about this?”

“It’s been two months, dude.”

“It hasn’t been that long to my heart!”

“I can’t believe that just came out of your mouth. Dude, have you even showered since she left? I think I can smell you through the door.”

“If all you’re going to do is mock me, then get off my porch and leave me to my healing process.”

“Healing process? Sitting on your couch in your underwear and staring into an HP 8” Digital Photo Frame as its slideshow function displays photographic memory after photographic memory of all the good times you and Gertie had before she started sleeping with that high school janitor as it plays all the Death Cab For Cutie songs you’ve stored in the 128MB internal memory or on the inserted memory card over and over again is what you call healing?”

“It supports all the motion JPEG video files we made together, too, you know! SOB!”

“WHO ARE YOU ANYMORE? For real, dude, don’t make me break this door down ‘cause, if I do, I’m smashing that thing and dragging you to a strip club, I swear to you.”

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