Before my stroke in February—two days prior to my hospitalization, when I think about it—I had a date with a woman at the Lucky Star Casino in Concho. We had been dating for a couple of weeks and it was a “make-it or break-it” thing.

Basically, it was my way to see if we had hit the jackpot. Sigh.

For dinner that night, we decided to dine at the casino, wanting to try their Indian Tacos. I had them, of course, but I don’t remember anything about them—and really anything about the date in general. In fact, I remember practically nothing about that night.

A few weeks later, I was in the “after-care” portion of my long stay in the hospital. I charged my derelict phone and found about a thousand texts. One was from her, telling me I was a real asshole for “ghosting” her.

I wanted to reply to my sweet nothing, and explain what happened, but I…

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