I wish you, and you, and you, and definitely you would all ask for my help every now and then. I’m a natural picker-upper, not of my own life, but of others. I’m one of those healers. At your “going away super party” where we stacked 3 rows of beers on your fence and where Jon decided to be immature and piss the whole party off, I was the one not drinking, keeping an eye on him and making sure people weren’t fucking with your shit. Why can’t you just come over and tell me everything on your mind, let me in to your world. I want to be the merchant I know I am, forget being an innovator, builder or banker, I want to be here for you and so does everyone else. Come over, smoke a pack with me, please.
You told me the next time you’d be home, you’d be here for your dad’s funeral. I wish that weren’t true, but it is. And I want to be here for you, so badly. I’m your best friend dude.
