16. HOMELESS THEN VANISHED - August 2016 After the restraining order, I worried about Mandi all the time. When the Pulse shooting woke my dogs up and someone rang my doorbell at 2AM, I ran out there to see if it was Mandi. I kept track of Mandi through her Instagram and Tywaun’s facebook. It looked like they rented a new place, maybe a skid-row motel. I guessed the freaky woman finally threw them out. At least that part of my plan worked. Mandi showed a video with her dog in her new home. If I remember, the freaky woman had a problem letting Mandi's dog in the house. Then something happened. Maybe Tywaun lost his job at Ale House. Maybe he went crazy from Mandi cheating on him to pay the rent. He posted a video of himself driving north past the Jacksonville skyline. He moved back to Georgia, and he didn't take Mandi with him. He kept posting videos of like white girls having hotdogs shot at their head. And he engaged in visible public exchanges with other white girls whom he was friends with. For the second boyfriend in a row, Mandi was devastated. It was July. I went to Dancers Royale and her car was there. There was a blanket across the windshield, like she had been homeless and sleeping in it until Dancers opened. She must be homeless now, living in her car with her dog. Tywaun posted videos of puppies, and other things he knew Mandi would like. He posted a picture of his shy nervous kid, surrounded by other women. Then for the first time since I met her suddenly she vanished. Her phone stopped working on August 20th, three months after I bought her the new phone at Metro for her birthday, with her stripper name “Brittany Love” on the account. I had been sending her nasty little messages, to try to fuck with her head and sabotage her relationship. That's fair, right? The day her phone stopped working, was the day after the bill would have been due. She had no activity on facebook, and no activity on Instagram. I was worried about her. What I didn't know, is someone created a new facebook account, with the name "Mandi Jackon" without the "s". You couldn't find it by searching. And she didn't tell anyone or add her larger circle of friends, only enough close relations to make it believable. This account was being used for a special purpose, to placate one boyfriend, and maybe to make another one jealous. On September 2nd, She responded to Tywaun’s video driving north past Jacksonville, with her own picture driving north through Jacksonville over the Dames Point Bridge. Tywaun had been driving to Georgia without her, now Mandi was driving through Georgia to her sister's wedding in Tennessee. There was a strange guy with her. All I knew is her phone was turned off. I went to Rachel's to make sure she was alive. All I saw was that fat Chris Dahl, fat and with a beard after a season in jail. He was sitting in his usual drug dealer spot like a deviant Santa Claus, and staring at me like a surprised retard. Disgusting. On September lst, 2016, on my way to work in Melbourne, I wrote a long rant about how Florida dipshits in ranch houses like Chris Dahl have no idea how to sell drugs without getting arrested. I sent it to Mandi's little brother on facebook around 10 AM. Two hours later, Chris Dahl got arrested for selling meth at his Florida dipshit ranch house. It became Orange County case 48-2016-CF-Ol l304-O which is now sealed. It was October. Again I went to Dancers Royale, with a plan to turn right around and leave again if her car was there. On this day her car wasn’t there. So I went in. Having come from bright sunlight, I kind of blindly found my way past the stage through the club. Suddenly my eyes adjusted to the dark and Mandi was standing right in front of me, facing the other way. She was shouting “woohoo” to the delight of the skinny hillbilly Santa Claus from the previous summer, whom she denied knowing at the time. I turned around and walked straight out. Somebody must have seen me walk up an inch behind her, and then turn around and walk straight out the door like a Halloween horror villain. Because when I got to my car in the lot out back, two three four five six strippers stuck their heads out the back door. They stared at me in horror, like they were afraid if they stepped too far out into the open I might kill them. A manager came and ushered them all back in, staring at me, and I left.