Anyway, I was home that week, no call from the temp agency, when Oscar buzzed me from the street. Hadn’t seen his ass in weeks, since the first days of his return. Jesus, Oscar, I said. Come up, come up. I waited for him in the hall and when he stepped out of the elevator I put the mitts on him. How are you, bro? I’m copacetic , he said. We sat down and I broke up a dutch while he filled me in. I’m going back to Don Bosco soon. Word? I said. Word, he said. His face was still fucked up, the left side a little droopy. You wanna smoke? I might partake. Just a little, though. I would not want to cloud my faculties. That last day on our couch he looked like a man at peace with himself. A little distracted but at peace. I would tell Lola that night that it was because he’d finally decided to live, but the truth would turn out to be a little more complicated. You should have seen him. He was so thin, had lost all the weight and was still, still. What had he been doing? Writing, of course, and reading. Also getting ready to move from Paterson. Wanting to put the past behind him, start a new life. Was trying to decide what he would take with him. Was allowing himself only ten of his books, the core of his canon (his words), was trying to pare it all down to what was necessary. Only what I can carry. It seemed like another odd Oscar thing, until later we would realize it wasn’t. And then after an inhale he said: Please forgive me, Yunior, but I’m here with an ulterior motive. I wish to know if you could do me a favor. Anything bro, just ask it. He needed money for his security deposit, had a line on an apartment in Brooklyn. I should have thought about it- Oscar never asked anybody for money- but I didn’t, fell over myself to give it to him. My guilty conscience. We smoked the dutch and talked about the problems me and Lola were having. You should never have had carnal relations with that that Paraguayan girl, he pointed out. I know, I said, I know. She loves you. I know that. Why do you cheat on her, then? If I knew that, it wouldn’t be a problem. Maybe you should try to find out. He stood up. You ain’t going to wait for Lola? I must be away to Paterson. I have a date. You’re shitting me? He shook his head, the tricky fuck. I asked: is she beautiful? He smiled. She is. On Saturday he was gone (pg 311-313).