My first 34 years of life, not many people I knew – like, really knew – ever died. Only a few, spread out over time. This weekend, a good friend passed away. He’s the sixth person I know in two years who’s now gone. I made music with the first. Partied in college with the second. Laughed a lot with the third. Survived high school with the fourth. Shared blood with the fifth. Shared creative writing and futbol with the sixth.

If you’re reading this and we’re friends, you may want to consider breaking things off with me.