He was a nice guy, though. One of those who'd give you the shirt off his back. Big midwestern meat and potato kid, he rode Harleys and looked as if he played for ZZ Top. Lately, he had dropped to 110 pounds. I doubt he'd weighed that since sixth grade.
We were never really super close. I always hung out with his older brother, and he hung out with my younger brother. But I've always liked him ever since the time he shot my brother in the ass with a BB gun. How can you not respect that! We'd build forts in the hay mound and go "exploring" on the back 40 while trying to avoid being gored by the cranky bull.
He hadn't worked for a while, but last Sunday, his doorbell rang. His wife got up to answer, and there were 23 people from his work place there to split and stack wood for the winter. Twenty three! I don't even know 23 people.
I'm trying to work on flights to Ohio. There looks to be a direct flight in and out of Akron/Canton which is about 1½ hour drive. The funeral is Friday. I'm not sure I'll be able to make it. Airlines don't make it easy to do these quick, last minute things.
He died at 1:15 this afternoon.
He's four months younger than I am.
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