If I have to have a guardian angel, I�m glad he�s on my side. As far as I know, he always has been.

His passing is hitting me harder than I could have expected.

Quick story. It�s 16 or 17 years ago. Jay and I are roommates. He�s hammered, he upset, so he�s kinda taking it out on me, he thinks. I just don�t understand his rage, he says. I�m laughing. Why are you laughing, I will fuck you up son, he says. He screams in my face. Raaaaargh! He grabs my shirt in two hands, lifts me up, spins me around. Raaaaargh! I�m cracking up. If he wanted to throw me across the fucking driveway, he could have. But that wasn�t going to happen.

I loved that guy. I knew then as surely as I know now, he had no intention of hurting me. The man had a heart of solid fucking gold. Head like a brick, but his heart? Solid. Fucking. Gold.

I guess I�m getting to the age where the previous generation is starting to kick off.

Jay Candee was my friend. He was my drinking buddy, and later just my buddy. I�d get my drunk on right fucking now if I could have him back.

Truth is, I considered it regardless. I have exactly one beer. Sleighr. It's a seasonal. I have one left out of that sixpack. Jaybird drank the other five last Thanksgiving.

Jay Candee was the genuine article. No lie in him. Take him as he is, or to hell with ya, was kind of the way he lived his life. At some point in his life, long before we met, the filter between Jay�s brain and mouth was disassembled and removed. Jay spoke his mind often and loudly. I know it�s a feature of drunken men that they are brutally honest with others. Jay had this feature when he was sober; when drunk, well, let�s just say that inebriation did not soothe his tongue.

Jay was a poet, as all drunk men with hearts of solid fucking gold are poets.

I miss you brother.