My best friend died Monday night. I only learned about it from a message that his wife had left this evening (she'd left it after I was in bed and we often communicate just before Jeapordy). Shock, pint of vodka, doesn't compute. He(we) knew that he was gonna croak. (stage 4,5?,)prostate, metastatic. Had been told that he was gonna make it through the election. Just gone. Not even numb. Just a bit tipsy. My neighbor, matriarch of the clan across the street will be able to help because she has way more emotional understanding than I do. That is a blessing. Because I will not be able to get this for awhile.