Fail, fail, fail, fail, succeed

Barking To Be Bitten

It was a cold, gray, early winter afternoon and we were just two musicians scrambling to make a buck delivering rental cars from Logan airport to various points around Boston. I had met you on this job and we hit it off right away – we recognized each other as two kindred spirits working on a crew of ex-convicts, townies, bikers, and the general flotsam caught in the last drain of humanity. We weren’t like them – we had a purpose: we were so focused on our music that we were blind to how bad our circumstances really were. Of course, unbeknownst to us at the time was the fact that both our respective childhoods had prepared us well to survive whatever shitstorm life threw at us. But I digress

The food truck had pulled into the airport parking lot, and that meant everyone piled out for food. We were right on the water and the wind was whipping in off the ocean so cold it might as well have been the arctic circle. Neither one of us was dressed warm enough, but we were used to it. As we stood in line to get a cup of coffee, the vendor opened a bin on the back of the truck filled with steaming gray water for the guy in front of us. In it were a few pale hot dogs, floating like dead bodies in the bay. As the driver reached in to grab one, you looked at me and mouthed a line so surreally funny, I still remember today, over 35 years later.

Look Dav – they’re barking to be bitten.”

You would have delivered it dryly, with just a hint of a smile. If I stop and think hard, I can still see your face: handsome, like a dark haired Irish working class rock star, just waiting for the inevitable moment that would never seem to come when the rest of the world would recognize it.

Rest In Peace my friend – you died 3 years ago today but you’ll always be alive in my heart.