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One man's thoughts of a friend gone

I pulled the last olive off the swizzle stick with my teeth and ate it before finishing off my drink.

Looking up at the clock it, showed 4:20. It was in the AM, not the afternoon.

It had been a long day. “I couldn't even begin to count the number of people at the wake,” I thought.

Flipping on the TV, I found there wasn't much at this time in the morning, just talking heads, Infomercials, a rebroadcast of a Flyers vs Penguins game on ESPN and endless drivel.

Thinking to myself, “I didn't know why in his or her infinite wisdom they chose to take him. Why not me? I had 15 more years on him. He was definitely a more talented writer. He loved playing his guitars. I could barely play a Kazoo and walk at the same time. He had more friends that truly care about him and yet I’m still here. Whatever was the logic behind that?”

Someone had placed an medium format camera in the casket with him. Maybe it was a memento or a beloved camera to him. I think it was an Exakta 66. I never graduated from 35mm to something of that caliber.

It just didn't make any sense to me at all. “Why him of all people?” I questioned myself.

I got up and walked over to the liquor cabinet. I had only one thing I had to do and that was to make one more in his honor. One more Dirty Martini.

Slipping it slowly, I raised the glass and said aloud, “Here's to you Alan old friend. You will be missed.”

 

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