in salo fluctuans

brentRaising a horn to the memory of Brent Smith, who would have been 51 today.

I was friends with the guy for 43 years and there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think of him.

It is generally the simple things that I drift back to.  My ‘go to’ memory is the two of us sitting on the porch on Martin Street, drinking Bud Longnecks, smoking Marlboro cigarettes, and listening to Led Zeppelin III.

What was so special about that afternoon? Not a damn thing. We were just two guys in the prime of life, sitting in the shade, without a care in the world. Brent always had that easy come-easy go attitude that I was jealous of.

Left to my own devices, I would conjure up dark clouds of doom, gloom, and despair, but Brent had a way of making any problem seem trivial and easily vanquished by some good music, cold beer, and plenty of smokes.

I will forever cherish his trademark raised eyebrows and Cheshire Cat Grin that meant he was aiming to misbehave. Well, we did a lot of misbehavin’, Brent and I, and I am confident that wherever he’s at these days, he’s up to more of the same.

I love you, buddy.

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