Sharkman

An old friend died this last week. He wasn’t old; he was a friend a long time ago. I’d only seen him once in the last dozen years, but we'd sent a few emails back and forth. It was strange to learn of his death from a website whose author did not even know him.

Watching Wizard of Oz with Sharkman was more fun than any other time I have seen that movie. I also ate more prunes in one sitting with him—he had jars of ‘em in his room, jars—than ever before or since: he had decided they were a good luck talisman for free throws at that time. I know he would’ve raged at the referees today, and I raged along with him in spirit. I think I’ll dig out the Mr. Bungle tape (his favorite, a dozen years ago) and rage some more.