My friend went to the morgue today.
No indifferent in fashion to one's own family, colleague or acquaintance must do – as will I too.
Most likely this visit will be destined the next to last trip his human form will ever undertake.
I devote these few lines of prose to him, his kindred soul.
We knew each other for many years least – whilst enjoying each other's fine company from late summer bloom through the annuals of fall – where the leaves are no longer crisp but at the height of color and fall into the early frosts of winter.
Whilst our friendship became birthed through the study of great competition, it quickly transformed.
The good and indifferent of each's kith and kin that flowed through our streams of conscious awake, the tastes of cherished foods likened by both and visitations we had taken.
His taste of an Alabama apple, my own from Virginia – nearby locales to each as a certain example.
Face to face, side by side, we witnessed great clashes of competitive battle.
Composing what we witnessed to those that were not present or had an interest in our scribe.
We were given a gift. To perform such a duty that was never a true hardened days' shift.
An enjoyment that is one I will gratefully own.
In the end, this culmination of affairs is forked among my memories, due to fade as all things must do.
I'll mournfully miss the friendship of my pal Larry Fleming – a gentleman, a phrase turner and a mentor.