What I remember most is the laughter. We stayed up too late, singing Jimmy Buffett songs, and those tragic oldies, Neil Diamond, Bottle of Wine... I remember drinking, and smoking cigarettes, and laughing. We- I am feeling- Maybe I should just state the facts, as if there are facts to state, as if I were capable of just stating them if there were. I had a friend, and his name was Ben. Ben died, recently; he was a relatively young man, when it comes to dying, not yet out of his sixties. When I was sixteen or so, my friends and I would hang out at his house, and our band would play shows and practice in his garage. He was my friend's dad. I don't know what to say here, except my feelings are complicated and ever changing. My friend is dead and I don't even know how to feel. He was a veteran of the Vietnam War. He was, and remains, a large part of my life. He was a huge influence on me. And yeah, my adult self cringes at the idea of a kid drinking and s
Here in the Black and White