The guy--I remember him with an old army coat and a scraggly beard--who'd been talking to himself, said "trail that sunshine, sir" to nobody in particular but loudly enough to take as a benediction, as Jeff and I left Gitsis Texas Hots after a late hungover breakfast in Rochester about 20 years ago. Between Jeff and me it's still email code for totally bonkers, insane happiness, like Kong riding the bomb to oblivion in Dr. Strangelove, waving his Stetson and bellowing "yahoo". For some reason it's what comes to mind reading Marek today. Why? Do I want to banish the alcoholic brother, shut out the day we screamed at each other, ignore the deaths and illnesses of friends that become more frequent as we get older, not think about the other stuff I can't talk to anyone about? No, I need to face all these things as much as I can, talk about them as much as I can prod my private self to with people I think I can talk to. But there's still a need for happiness that's completely whacked out in the face of everthing that hurts. Just to stop and smell the gorgeously rich, fecund night air and to notice the moon and stars for the ten thousandth time. I'm too poor a writer to go on. But, ohhh yes: remember those "moments of being human, the human - full of dreams", and do it again now and now and now.