28/29. Some people will spend an entire lifetime discovering their passions and closest friends. At 12 years old, I found two of those things in a dusty auto parts warehouse-turned skate park. The park seemed to evolve as we progressed, picked up new friends, and lost other ones. Fifteen years on, and I can remember his earliest schemings. On a ride to the park, I had a handful of dollar bills and he only had a single five dollar note. He tried to bargain with me, “I’ll give you my five dollar bill for three of your ones,” or something to that affect. I ended up buying him a drink and he kept his money. In high school it was rides to the mountain, or New Hampshire, and college it was a ticket to Loon. The deals were never equal, but they always worked out; I had an afternoon or weekend with my best friend and he had whatever it wasn’t he didn’t before. We eventually lived in a 10x14ft shed for a summer and learned each other’s idiosyncrasies. He was neat, and I was clean. We drove one another mad, and stayed quiet until one of us was bored of it, and we went skating. Even after he sliced through the tendon in his pinky and had to move home to do finger Olympic rehab, he came down every weekend or I went up there to check in and push around. Jobs, commitments, hobbies, they all get in the way of what we would really do if we could just find someone to finance it for us. Sometimes these tasks keep us occupied for months without a skate or surf, but there is still no one that can make me belly laugh or my blood boil faster than he. Thank you.