Well, bobad, me too. Every minute with Reggie was a laugh and a half. Tonight was the first time in 30 years that he wasn't 100% positive (including during the two rounds of cheemo) and just "bubbly", for lack of a better term. He was always laughing. Always cracking jokes. Even when he was pissed off about something, he'd crack a half-assed joke and laugh... the kind of laugh that was infetious... he could make you laugh just by laughing.

Same with Dougie, his best friend and a friend of mine. Dougie keeled over the steering wheel at age 52 in his driveway after going home from work at noon because he didn't feel good. Dougie could drink black rum all day and night and be as fresh as a rose at dawn. Reggie quit smoking the day Dougie died. Fifteen years later, Reggie got lung cancer. And he... nevermind.

I could tell you stories for hours about them two lads. Lord dyin Moly Joeseph the stories. We logged a lotta miles from East Overshoe, Nova Scotia to WTF Am I Doin Here, Labrador and all points in between. I never met two men who knew SO much about concrete and I'll never again. Dougie could look at asphaltic concrete in the hopper and say, "That's gap graded on the fourty so you'd better get the wheels on it after the first pass with the steel and you still might have to lift it if junior here (me) doesn't pass it fer checkin in the mat." These guys were good. If there ever was such a thing as a crete gunslinger, Dougie and Reggie were top stars and I was lucky to be a deputy. Airport paving is a tight spec.

Sorry... I am rambling. Maybe that's what I wanna do? If yer still reading and yer not keen on what I am writin, stop readin.