"You know he's gonna do that f*%&in' drum solo...."

Bubbles likes Rush.

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July 25, 1993...

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I was woken up early by my dad, who came in slowly, quietly to my bedroom after trying to process the news he and my mother had received 45 minutes previously. The unthinkable. It was a bright, shiny Sunday morning, the sun just now coming through the curtain of my east window. I had been at a friend's house the night before playing music in our high school garage band. Had it not been for the band, and the fact that I was scheduled to work at the grocery store that Sunday morning, who's to say I wouldn't have been out at that party with them Saturday night? Dad sat down on the edge of my bed, placed his hand on my shoulder, shaking it gently.  "Buddy... Buddy wake up." I rolled over quickly. Dad never woke me up in the mornings. "I've got some really bad news to tell you..." His eyes visibly red, his voice weak and shaky.  "...You lost two friends last night." "Who?" Twenty years is an eternity, and also a blink of an eye. A comm
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