At the LIBARRY, which I thought would be less crowded on account of the snow, but it is as populated as ever.
It turns out that guy who I thought had expunged or obfuscated record of his drunk driving in the 1980s did no such thing. I was spelling his name wrong. One record of him turned up under that spelling. It was an OCR error on a high school yearbook web site. Under the correct spelling I revisited the details of the incident, not that I maintain an enduring interest in it. It’s just that it seemed like such a big huge deal at the time. He was 17, and as the press never failed to mention, he was son of an Assistant Coach for the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. I guess that connection made for some salaciousness. He was 17 years old when he drove onto the Howard Frankland Bridge, which until yesterday I thought was spelled “Franklin”. It was tempting to think it was a typo, since the story I read was full of them. It said the women he killed was driving home after seeing her “finance.” I guess they meant “fiancée.” She was 20. He got sentenced to 10 years but I don’t think he ever went to jail, and I don’t intend to research it any further to find out. Public records show him as living in Illinois, under his real name. So I guess he’s made little if any effort to hide his past. That was my only real interest in following up on this matter, to see if he had managed to expunge or obfuscate all trace of this matter from the public Internet. I wouldn’t think he could wipe the slate clean but through reputation.com he could probably have mountains of other more innocuous stuff show up ahead of the rest.
Not feeling good this day. Anxiety is high. I might want to lay off the booze again. I mean, maybe “want” is not the proper term. Need. Not happy with my life, but that’s nothing new.
Somebody about 15 feet from me is taking an extremely long time in browsing the comic books on the 4th of 5th shelves. He looks 30-ish. I need to get out of here. I need to get out of everywhere.
