Leaving Skittles's house in February after getting kicked out of Denmark two days prior was memorable in that I've never felt loneliness of that depth. Leaving Denmark was hard but I had somewhere to go. Same with leaving LA and driving back to Indiana. Skittles didn't exactly tell me to leave. I wouldn't even say she asked me to. At the end, however, I felt it time to pull the plug after the tumultuous two nights in Ricardo's guest house.
     A month before that, I'd been down for a friendly visit in which she'd offered me a more permanent place to stay if I needed one for me or my cat. When I arrived the second time out of necessity, she chose a moment soon after I'd arrived to tell me she was allergic to cats. The third time I showed up in Dresden out of desperation, she took that opportunity to tell me she didn't have a place for me to stay nor the time or energy to help me. I can't say I hold her responsible for anything at all. I am a jerk to her.
     The second time I appeared on her doorstep, we found a way to make everything amicable despite her allergic reactions to my cat and the night before I left town we went out with some of her friends. It was a nice time for me even though they spent the whole evening speaking German. Everyone was friendly and welcoming and Skittles and I didn't speak of the cat.
     On the way home, we decided to find some absinthe and go have a green hour. Skittle took me to this bar she knew of where I realized I didn't have my wallet. In a state of panic I tried to think of all the places I might have left it and couldn't remember the last time I'd seen it. We decided to put the green hour on pause and backtrack until we found it. We'd walked through a park in which there were two moments of horseplay, one coming down a hill in which Skittles tried to shove me into a snow bank. That bit of tomfoolery took us about fifteen strides off the beaten path. The other bit of horseplay was when I'd chased Skittles with a long plank from a fence. That took us off the path for about thirty strides. We scoured these two places like hawks for what seemed like a long time before giving up and making our way back to her friend's house, hoping my wallet might have dropped out as I was putting on my jacket to leave.
     We got to Skittles's friend's house only to make ourselves look like fools when there was no wallet to be found. Skittles borrowed a flashlight from her friend so we could go back to the park and search again. On our way back to the park, I remembered that I'd taken my wallet out to use my calling card on her phone and had left it on the kitchen table. It was a huge relief and with renewed spirit, we were back in pursuit of the green hour. We passed back through the park and were making our way to the other side when I stepped on a rusty nail sticking up out of the very plank of wood that I'd picked up to chase Skittles with.
     Had any of a great many variables been slightly different, perhaps I'd still be in Dresden to this day. If I'd remembered to bring my wallet in the first place. If Skittles wouldn't have tried to shove me into that snow bank. If I hadn't tried to retaliate by bonking her with that piece of wood. If we would have chosen one of about a billion different routes to get back to that bar. If I'd remembered at any point that my wallet was safely on the kitchen table.
     Instead, terrified of lockjaw, I insisted we go home and call my mom who would know what to do. My mom told me to soak it and bandage it and prepare for a good day or two of pain and swelling. The next day, limping, I got on a train and went back to Denmark. The pain in my foot got much worse but eventually healed up. Skittles, and my relationship with her, did not.