General

Tom was there before the business took off, meeting me for coffee and chats. He was there when my wife was hospitalized, taking the kids to his house as may times as necessary. Not once did he ask for money, not even for groceries. He took them with a smile and handed them back happy and fed. During the fat years I could rely on him to tell me if I was being an idiot, lazy or complacent. Then his daughter's kidney's failed and it was our turn to be the rocks. We've seen each other cry, we've seen the very foundations be kicked out from one another, and we are still men in each other's eyes, still “brothers.” There is no friend I would walk into battle besides so willingly, but Tom's fights are mine and vice versa. One day we'll be old men on a bench supping latte and eating scones before tottering with walking canes through Central Park.