It’s been almost twenty years, Mark. Rest In Peace, friend.

If I imagine tomorrow, it's another day. 

It’s not forward, backwards or sideways. And I think of him. Crooked smile and all. A manifestly inadequate man. 

And it’s not here or there or sideways. 

It is what it is and not just what it could be. Because it could have been beautiful if I wasn’t much much too young and if you weren’t a manifestly inadequate man. 

It was a shame but you taught me to be a man. Despite your friendly violence. 

I outlived you. Due to fate and your circumstance. 

The smell of Damascus rose makes me think of him. Of roast chicken. Of salt and vinegar chips.