Last night I dreamt I was with Tim. We were looking over a rack of used clothes (he used to work at Savers before he got hired as a teacher and during the summers). I think we were laughing at the clothes. Tim said he needed a drink, and he started drinking some rum from a bottle that looked more like an amber beer bottle. I told him I wanted a little, so I started to take a swig from the bottle but only drank a very small bit. Tim seemed a bit angry about something. Maybe because drinking isn’t as much fun when you’re dead.
And Stan, I’m sorry, I forgot to say hi to him for you.
Those were the days when we used to go out drinking with Tim.