Too long for the Obits.

Alex was a few years younger than me, but infinitely wiser in his own regard; was, is, whatever. I'm not sure how one's supposed to address those in his category, those of his caliber, other than with utter admiration for unabashedly admitting that the world's a lousy place and not worth fighting for, despite Hemingway's famous lie of an introduction to "For Whom the Bell Tolls". 'Cause you know what, fellow lush? It doesn't toll for you and me. Try to put as positive a spin on the globe as you want. It just doesn't.

I remember our last conversation like it was yesterday. He approached me with that same sarcastic grin that was always glued to his face, but the sparkle in his eye was magically more omniscient. He'd discovered some Great Truth that he wasn't about to share with the likes of me or anybody else on the job, and I wasn't about to waste my breath asking him. Al was basically alright, even though some people mistook his aloof nature for arrogance. I knew him better than that, though; or at least I thought I did, based on the brief glimpses into his life that he chose to share with me at what were usually the most inappropriate times. Maybe I shouldn't have down-played it so often. We all knew what he meant when he said those things he did, we just didn't like to acknowledge it. We sure didn't think he'd go that far. Poor kid.

"My uncle's living out of cans somewhere in Florida and his kids won't send him money."

"I'm sorry to here that, Al. Can you pass me that wrench?"

"Social Security doesn't send him checks anymore because he failed to show for probation and he's a felon."

"The five-eighths socket isn't snugging up enough. Toss me the nine-sixteenths."

"My cousins and mother have disowned each other for the fifth time as a result of it. Mom's been sending him money a few times a month without telling my stepfather. If he knew he'd go ballistic, even though she works more than he does."

"Yeah, where's your old man been lately? Haven't seen him at the bar."

"He's not my father. My father and I haven't spoken in over two years."

"You know what I mean, Al. Take it easy."

"My mother. My mother says I drink too much, but she's got a few nasty habits of her own. I don't mention them anymore. I gave up reverse-parenting back in high school. She kicked me out of the house once when I got rid of her stash. My mother's going to die someday and suddenly I'll realize what love really is, but it'll have been too late."

"Jesus, Al. Lay off the soap box talk. Have you been eating leftovers at one in the morning again?"

"Not everything's a joke, Dave."

"Oh no? Then what is it?"

"The world's a sad place."

"Are you going to tighten those nuts up or am I going to have to do it for you?"

"I'll take care of it."

"I'll believe it when I see it, Socrates."

"Plato. Call me Plato. Socrates didn't exist, he was conjured to take the blame."

"The blame for what?"

"For the world being a sad place..."

"I thought I just told you..."

"...and people having a need to write about it like it were someplace else."

I remember our last conversation like it was yesterday, because it was. Alex T. Zonuffstra, you may be missed by some, but at least I won't have to carry your weight at work anymore. Those nuts don't just tighten themselves, you know.