01-26-04| 9:58 pm

I knew a man named John Ryan. He was married, his wife and my grandmother have been close friends for too many years to count. And now he's dead, that means his body doesn't work anymore.

But I still remember his smile and the way he walked. I remember his voice, I remember his house; I remember sitting in the screened in patio on the 4th of July and I don't want to picture his wife living there alone. I still remember, only I don't want to because what good are memories if I won't ever hear his voice again, if no one will ever hear his voice again?

His body stopped working and what good are memories? They can't fix it.