First day there, we went for a walk, and my circuits got just blown... from every other building, Dead or Jerry music could be heard. I remember saying to her, "Damn! I can't believe it! I'm going to really like it here."
Soon after saying that, though, I found out what was going on... Jerry was gone. I hadn't died and gone to heaven... he had.
It sounds absurd, adolescent and hackneyed to admit this, but I shed more tears about Jerry than I did when my parents died. Although they had given me lots of love -- and I loved them -- it was Jerry's music (and Hunter's) that had taught me the importance of that word.
Anyway, in the space of an instant, that day went from being one of my happiest, to the saddest. Which taught me something else, too. Life can jump up and bite you in the ass in a heartbeat. And we're goddamn fools if we waste the time we have being haters.
Christ! All that sounds way too much like words of wisdom from me, Old Man Deadhead. But that isn't my intention... it's just another story. And anyone who lives long enough ends up with a bunch of them..