The Sunday I got the news, man, I was lying in bed just fuckin’ brutally hungover. I talked to C. and I didn’t know what to say at all. There was this angry old westerly wind blowing through. You know the one-enough to blow over all your patio furniture. I sat there in bad and rolled one after another and wondered if there was a little piece of you blowing through from Calgary on the coattails of that wind. I wondered what you would have said. Remember when we lived at Purple Lights, and you got home from school and asked me if I had a smoke, and was like ‘Shit, no man, I’m fuckin’ broke, I was hoping you’d have one…’ and we sat on the couch and talked about how shit being broke was and we dumped out the ashtray and rolled up the butts. Then you said something that’s stuck with me ever since–you said ‘There’s no shame in rolling butts, man. There’s no shame in having to roll butts every once in a while. You gotta do what you gotta do.’
But anyways, like I said, there was this angry old wind…Fuck man, you know, I would have loved the chance to say goodbye.
We all just kind of found ourselves sitting there like fuckin’ idiots, knowing it meant something, but not knowing what it was.