He died peacefully in his sleep.
Who the hëll could have predicted that. I always thought he’d die while stopping a bank robbery. Or from an assassin’s bullet. Or flying off a twisty mountain road because some jáçkášš in a Corvette thought he was a better driver.
Instead peacefully. In his sleep.
Son of a bìŧçh.
The last several years he was mostly a prisoner of his stroke afflicted body. Most times recently when I tried to call, no one picked up.
He wasn’t happy. Not for a long time.
Now it’s our turn.
PAD
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