Me: I’m sorry I’m late.
Him: It’s fine. I’m just glad you came.
Yesterday was a strange and sad day.
Part of my job’s to do site inspections around the state for things.
Yesterday, was in an orthodox Jewish neighborhood in Brooklyn checking out a building when the property contact and I went to the roof. There, at 12:30 in the afternoon, a bunch of people were drinking and smoking.
Thought for sure a fight was gonna break out.
Ended up being lotsa talk and stare-downs and me wondering in the background why every guy in the world thinks he’s Pacino or DeNiro, ready to die like a hero.
If you can actually fight, you don’t talk about the stuff you’re gonna do. You either just do it or you don’t. Luckily the property contact was an adult and just called up for some help.
Afterward, rushed home to change into a suit to go downtown.
My buddy’s mom passed away. Made it down to the funeral home just at the very end.
My wrasslin coach and other fellas from the gym showed up before me to pay their respects too.
The older you get, the more funerals you go to. It’s a crap milestone but one we all reach.
There’s really not much you can say at them. It’s not the words that matter any way. As sweet as the words I’m on my way are, the most important thing’s the being there.
In the end, you don’t talk about being there, you’re just either there or you’re not. You either just do it or you don’t.
It’s so true: A man’s dying is more the survivors’ affair than his own.
When we take the blows life gives us, if we’re lucky, good souls‘ll be there – not to take the blows for us, but to pick us up, bloodied and battered, afterward.
Him: The other guys showed up in suits. Suits! Can you believe it? They musta brought them to the gym and came here afterward.
Me: (laughing) I can’t picture it.
Location: home, for now
Music: Sometimes I get to feelin’ I was back in the old days