We tried to invite you to the gin-tasting party the first time, and it didn't work out - you had a work function. We missed you, but these things happen.
We should have invited you the second time, but we ended up inviting two other folks instead of you and the Dolan, and it didn't work out. A shame, because when you told me about the Gun Club, I wanted to learn more - and to pour you some. And to get to know you better, but I never will, now, I guess.
I'll just always know you as that guy at the parties with the dapper suit, the inevitable cocktail, the calm, genial presence who was always up for educating a former welfare brat curious about the martini or the brandy poured into the punch. Or I'll remember the story about you sticking a champagne cork in Suzy's mouth at a house party in some distant, never to return past. Or as Dann's ramen buddy and brother.
There's a lot of people with broken hearts now, and I don't know how I feel. Don't know how I'm supposed to feel. Is there a should for this? My lover is broken-vouched from crying, and I'm too far away right now. I half expect to walk into a room and find you with a cocktail in hand, even though I know I won't.
And now I never will again.
I'll miss you, man. And I don't think I'll ever understand.