Four to the Floor
I’m not sure the title is so apt but it’s what filled the space on this occasion. Fudge me brother, four years already since you passed. It’s fairly mental. Life seems to go on without you my man, albeit with a gaping hole left in the lives of many you touched.
I’ve recently had my two-year China anniversary and I’m still cutting years off my life my working my ass off in Beijing: one of the world’s most polluted cities.
I’m listening to Enigma’s Sadness track, sniffing poppers, and getting flashbacks from 1990 in your little flat at Dad’s house. Despite the song title, we were oh-so happy and not so innocent back then.
I have so much to tell you and it’s so sad that we can’t meet again. You live on – of course – in some bizarre, trippy, way. Your tree in Hastings' Alexander Park grows taller every day. Every James I meet and befriend I refer to as brother James – it’s not quite the same naturally.
I tell people about you all the time. You will not be forgotten. Mother dearest and I are continuing to fight your cause in the courts, November we’re set for a rematch. I can’t say I’m thrilled about the idea but will nice to get some closure. The second round must be easier than the first surely.
Zeph’s a copper now – in an ironic turn of events – he was the lucky one who got out of prison alive. We recently met up here in the ‘jing and I took him to a luxury five-star hotel where we were treated to some complimentary food and booze; it’s not easy being a journalist you know. Wish you could have been with us. You would have loved it.
I’ll get back to my poppers now. Rave in Peace brother. James Best RIP 11.12.73 - 08.09.11.
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