Much love, fellas:

I spent a bittersweet but delightful afternoon yesterday with S and P at the Vivace on the northeast part of Broadway. Last Thanksgiving weekend, the three of us and TJ corralled at Dilletante, swapping tales and laughing ourselves silly. (TJ and I then went to a furniture store on Pike Street to retrieve a chest of drawers I'd purchased. With typical strength and perhaps a wee bit of bravado, he carried it under one arm from the store to my car around the corner and repeated the process when unloading it in my garage and riding the four floors up to my condo.)

S has lived in Los Angeles for years and, as such, he couldn't make it to TJ's memorial. P attended the vigil, but was in Paris for his awesome wife's 40th birthday when the memorial came. (I consider her a dear friend, too, and was all in favor of them adhering to their long-planned jaunt. As I relayed, TJ would have been the last person to want to fuck up anyone's travel plans.) S and P loved TJ and vice versa and S, with his usual insight, suggested that when he came to town for Thanksgiving this year, we gather again and raise our mochas to TJ.

We did and told stories of his life and caught up on our own and the whole thing felt right and good.