We were drinking ourselves
into the grave.
I escaped temporarily.
Greg didn\'t.
He was crossing a
busy street in Iowa City.
In his baggy, dirty jeans
was a bottle of vodka that
he had just lifted.
I\'m guessing he was in
too big a hurry to
\"get well\" and knock
off the shakes.
A minivan ran him down.
Before the booze wrecked him,
he was a lawyer, and a pretty
damn good golfer.
But what I remember the
best were our days at Prairie
Meadows, playing the ponies.
We cashed a few winning
tickets together, and
tore up some losers too.
God bless you, little buddy.
You\'re on the homestretch now.