It was Mardi Gras night 1990 or could’ve been 1991. I was so sick. I planned to be in the parade with friends as Stepford wives, drugged to the eyeballs on barbiturates, just bashing into the crowd with shopping trolleys all the way up the route.But I was so sick.
I couldn’t get out of bed. This flu seemed so intense. I also had golf ball-sized lymph glands and night sweats. I had quite a few friends that were succumbing to the dreaded bum flu and I’m imagining that maybe this is the seroconversion.
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