As virtuous men pass mildly away,
And whisper to their souls to go,
Whilst some of their sad friends do say,
"Now his breath goes," and some say, "No."
Manny died last week. Manny was one of those guys you saw everywhere and knew well enough to shoot tequila with, even if you didn't ever have dinner with him.
He was short and had very long hair. After three shots of tequila a couple of Hallowe'ens ago, I told him he was the second long-haired Mexican I'd fallen instantly in love with in my life. He laughed and laughed at that.
He drummed. He was on *fire*. And he sang and boogied and generally made parties more fun and boring nights at the bar interesting.
Wouldn't you know he had a brain tumor. It killed him eventually, the way glios always do. He was 45.