The others, gold

Just got news from an old friend. Chad Clark, a former colleague and fellow survivor of place I'll just call Bruceville, just had a brush with mortality. He was a Kelly Girl, and I was a nurse, and much to my shame, I got him addicted to computer solitaire. We haven't spoken in years and have emailed one another infrequently, but I think of him often and mean to touch base. Isn't that always the way.
I had a Chad flashback just last week when I heard an NPR interview with the genius Mike Doughty. Lo these many years ago, Chad introduced me to the music of Soul Coughing. They were so very far away from what almost anyone else in the world would expect this outwardly ridiculously white-bread girl to listen to, but Chad knew something about me that even I didn't. First (to me) came the CD Ruby Vroom, then a live show at the Black Cat in D.C. Transformative. Thereafter, I trusted him about all things musical, and he never failed to expand my world in all the tight places.
I don't know how it is with him these days, but back then Chad had a trunk full of CDs. None was in its original case. He had this habit of putting the most recently ejected CD into the case of the next one he wanted to hear. You could have backtracked and reconstructed his listening experience if you'd had hours and hours and an administrative assistant to take dictation.
Most endearingly, Chad laughed in all the right places when I told unabashedly exaggerated anecdotes about chance encounters in the elevator of our building.
Chad Clark, I miss seeing you every day, and I'm glad you're still on the planet.