You lived just a couple streets over from me, but we didn't meet until high school because I had gone to private school up until then. Wasn't it nice of me not to lord my vastly superior knowledges over you all? I kid, I kid.
You drove one of those little two-seater Fieros, which I was lucky enough to catch a ride home in fairly often. It was in that car where I first heard Pantera and Rage Against the Machine. Seeing as how those two bands occupied a heavy portion of my personal soundtrack for the next few years, I'd say I owe you big for that.
A few years after I moved to Austin, I came back to Houston to visit a few folks, and you and I ran into each other in a bar. I don't think it's an understatement to say you weren't looking too good. While we chit-chatted, you nervously kept your hands pinned in your lap, letting one loose only long enough to sip your drink, which seemed to require a bit of effort on your part. After a while, you asked a very peculiar, very telling, question.
"Hey man, you ever smoke crack?"
"Uh, no, I haven't."
"That's good man. Because that shit'll fuck you up."
Noted, bro. I hope you managed to keep your shit together.