"...'Cause all I see are green lights." 
"Like Hannibal Lecter or Jesus for fuck's sake..."
I suppose it wasn’t a shock to learn that Jules and Buttons met in rehab; but like so many things over that five day week the story went in some unexpected directions.
"I can tell you the time was 4:05 PM on my watch when I left the house* (*here Jules swung his arm so I could see his wristwatch. Not that it was the same watch; nor was it 4:05--but whatever!).
"...I did the same routine everyday and knew exactly how to time it. I had an old LeBaron back then. Piece of shit Chrysler with a bad transmission, which is probably what almost killed me. I don’t know what it was. I know I didn’t have more than 3 or 4 drinks--nothing that would have affected me. ‘Specially not back then. That was sober for me then! I might have been going a bit fast--I’ll give ‘em that; but it was more like those yokel-bumfucks where I lived didn’t know how to drive! I come down my hill like I always do and I can see down at the bottom that the light’s green. We had all these steep hills where I lived so you could see down towards the bottom even as you made your way....I don’t know. ..Maybe I saw that light and I thought I could go thru or the sunlight was in my eyes. I was sober--I know that, but that doesn’t mean you can’t space-out anyway. Assuming the bitch’s taillights in front of you are working--who even knows if they checked that cause she just drove away?! But I mean I saw that green light and...just thought I could go right through to the intersection. But then when I whipped ‘round this last blind turn there was a line of cars backed-up. I mean stopped! And here I’m going like a bat out of hell cause all I saw was that green light! So brother,..its over and I’ve just gotta react. I swerve off to what I’m thinking--or hoping! is shoulder; but there’s nothing there and my Lebaron just goes free-falling for something like..thirty feet I think they told me, ‘til I crashed nose-first like a fighter pilot. I’m out for a second or two but I remember thinking I had time. 'You’ve got time Jules,' I said that to myself, 'Get the fuck outta here and run before the police get here,' right? No problem. But so now I really take a good look around--cause I’m gonna run outta there, right?--and I realize I’m facing the God damn backseat! My head’s been turned 180 degrees like on a swivel. Not only that, but I can see my freaking feet dangling in front of me. In front of my eyes! My body’s been crunched like an accordion--get it? Like the letter ‘C’.’ My legs have flipped over my head and I’ve got my feet in front of my face! And you know what? I still tried to run! Broken neck and all. Ha! But by then my legs couldn’t listen so I had to sit there while they cut me out with the jaws of life--which meant the end of that piece of shit Chrysler! That’s one good thing."
"But oh man, Lodo. The judge knew me in that town and wasn’t gonna let me off the hook for breaking my pelvis and neck and totaling my own car. No way! That’d be letting me off too easy! So after I got out of surgery and before they even took me to a hospital bed they drove me to court and stood me up in front of the judge who’d hated my ass for fifteen years! Wouldn’t let me take any painkillers or anything ‘cause they wanted me fully conscious of my rights and wanted my plea while I was clear-headed. Are you kidding me? Clearheaded? I’d have said anything the pain was so damn bad and hell, I knew they’d done-up all the blood work anyway so I plead right then--while they had me stood-up on that gurney like Hannibal Lecter or Jesus for fuck’s sake the way that judge hung my ass out to dry when the only one I’d ever hurt was me. Schoolgirl diddlers get off easier than I did. And for what? But one thing first, they had to send me to physical therapy before I served my time and..."
“And that’s where we met!” Buttons interjected as she clinked highballs with Jules.
“That’s what you meant by rehab?” I asked.
“Yeah Lodo,” Buttons said with a laugh, “ We were at the same rehab center since we’d both broke our necks.”
“You broke your neck Buttons?”
“Oh you betcha Lodo--Rules never told you that?
"I was at a house party this one summer. I don’t remember much except dancing and barbecuing and having fun out on the deck which was like...elevated. You know? Like on the 2nd story; and we were hanging out like that drinking...I don’t know--just a few beers when somehow I leaned or fell or...I can’t remember exactly. I wasn’t even buzzed, but I’d somehow come-up against this railing that was too short or maybe...wobbly and they say I just (here Buttons made a motion with her hands) flipped right over and fell all the way to the ground. I really don’t remember it except that when I woke up I was in one of those halo’s ‘round my neck and I had to wear a body cast and had to go to rehab 4x a week. Oh I was so down Lodo! But then Jules showed up and I could hear him hollering the second he came in, saying he wanted some decent painkillers and not this low-dose shit pronto Senorita! and I knew he was gonna get out of there or die and that’s where I was at too. ‘Cause you can’t drink in those places Lodo--you really can’t!”
* NOTE: Due to the length of this post, I'm gonna split it into one final part. Next installment in a few days.
** ADDITIONAL NOTE: All pics stolen off Google Images and are used simply to enhance the story. Copyrights may exist, and I have no relation to (or knowledge of) those depicted.
It’d been five days with Buttons and Jules, so by now my liver knew what to do. Buttons was on her 2nd Cosmopolitan before noon and the only thing that kept Jules off-pace was the number of times he had to step outside to field a call. He bought us outrageously rich meals; so we got drunk, sober, and drunk again several times that slow afternoon. The tension of spent energies and frayed nerves imbibed our mood and spirited our purposeless conversations, while the impending flight next morning lingered in the back of our minds. The more we recalled of the past week the more pitched towards the future and its obligations we became. ‘Til we were neither here nor there, but in a kind of intermission.
For reasons unknown, Buttons and Jules stayed at (3) hotels in the (5) days they were here; but their one and only bar was O’Reilly’s. We met there at some point everyday, so by now Buttons knew every regular’s name and they knew her as well. Buttons and Jules. From out west.
We’d met-up around 11:00, but my story here doesn’t begin (or end) ‘til about 3:30 or so. That hour where you’ll note those first few workers slowly trickle-in from the job to anesthetize themselves before the crowded train ride home. Before their arrival, time had passed in purposeless, languid fashion. We’d been on tourist time. Leisure time. Or what you might call real drinker’s time, but the on-set of these commuters and their defined goals, placed us in harsh juxtaposition to their mechanized routine and worldly forces larger than ourselves.
We’d been talking about Dave Douglas--actually, that’s not really right. We were talking about bitches.
“I know what you’re saying Lodo. You don’t like a real uppity bitch. Like that one last night--am I right? Like her shit doesn’t even stink. Well you know what? It does!! Right? Putting on airs with us...”
“With you Jules.”
“With everybody!” he responded with that jab of his index finger into my chest. “You saw it.”
“Well now sweetie you did say ni__er about ten times in 20 seconds,” Buttons interjected with a laugh into her highball.
“I was saying they call him ni__er! Those military establishment assholes. They were saying let’s freeze this ni__er out! Not give him a chance. Listen...”
“Not so loud Jules,” I interjected. “Let’s not re-hash it again.”
“Its them bitches that start everything,” he said only slightly softer as he pinched at Buttons who swatted him away. “Her man and I got on just fine. You saw it Lodo. He said I was right.”
“Oh really!” Buttons responded incredulously. “Are you kidding me? When was that? Did you hear that Lodo?”
“I don’t remember him saying anything to you Jules.”
“He said 'it was the way you said it!' You don’t remember that Lodo? He knew what I meant.”
“No, I remember that. Okay. He knew what you meant Jules. So what? That chick knew what you meant too. That’s not what got them upset. ...I think you just made them nervous really.”
“Oh you betcha Lodo!” agreed Buttons. “That’s exactly what it was. You dropped the F-bomb a bunch of times too sweetie.”
“Not them. Her,” answered Jules. “He was fine. We shook hands.”
“Yeah Jules, I remember,” I told him, “but he didn’t say anything to you. He just stared.”
“We shook hands Lodo! What else is there to say?”
I had no response to that.
“...Whatever,” Buttons eventually said as she gestured for another round.
“No--not whatever,” Jules answered back. “You can tell.”
Jules took Button's hands in dramatic fashion as though to demonstrate his point before he turned back to me.
“...Hey Lodo, you know how me and this girl met?”
“No,” I answered as the bartender placed our drinks before us and cleared our empties, “but I’ve got time.”
* NOTE: Due to the length of this post, I'm gonna split it into another part. Part 2 in a few days.
** ADDITIONAL NOTE: All pics contained herein were stolen off Google Images and are used simply to enhance the story.
"We were wrong? When were we wrong?"
"Well, not wrong. Just..."
Kief:
Tarballs:
“You probably need to sign something.” Certainly not an outrageous response to the hypothetical question of who might unexpectedly buzz my downstairs door?; though several others such as:
"Maybe one of your neighbor’s is locked out."
or perhaps
"Someone’s probably got the wrong apartment," seem at least equally plausible (to name a few).
But no, Jules said “If its the postman, you’ll probably need to sign,” and now here I was moments later confronted with a young postman and his e-pad signature system strapped over his shoulder. So it didn’t take a great investigator to make the connection. Or a connection.
What was more difficult to decide was whether to accept the envelope. Sign for it. Think about it reader--an unknown, unexpected package, most likely from Jules, sent via U.S. mail, that required your signature. Would you accept it? Especially after you finally got rid of him?
Hmmmm.
But I have to admit my investigator’s curiosity was piqued. And God damn-it, my hungover mind was locked! I couldn’t think fast enough and wasn’t up for even minor confrontation so early in my day.
“Listen, are you Lodo Grdzak or not? Otherwise I’ll ring the right apartment. I’m not sure what the confusion is here.”
“Its not about confusion...”
“...Whatever,” the kid said as I eventually accepted the envelope and scribbled a purposefully distorted signature on his e-pad. As he turned and left, I stood in the doorway in expectation of...I’m not really sure.
Yet even after I returned to my apartment I didn’t open the envelope. Not right away. Instead I placed it on my table and stared at the shipping label. From Aaron Rodgers of Seattle, Washington.
Course eventually I had to see what was behind door # 1, so I tore open the adhesive strip, reached inside the envelope, and pulled-out two, vacuum-sealed bags full of a brown/tannish powder. Due to the sealed-packaging it was impossible to smell what was inside, and even after I retrieved my scissors and opened it I still wasn’t entirely sure what I had. The fragrant contents smelled like weed, but it was brown and all ground-up. I couldn’t locate even a single green bud or THC crystal; and the consistency was heavy; not light-shake as crushed weed would have been.
Still, that’s what I thought I had. Kief as the kids call it. To vape in my vaporizer. And now I had a lot of it.
In fact, as I stared at the two completely-filled, 8” x 10” bags my eyes blinked incredulously, and my emotions went up. Then down. Then sort of all over the place. As though Jules never left.
There’s gotta be over an ounce of this shit between the two of these bags.
Its enough to last months!
And he sent it all in the mail.
This’ll save you 500 bucks. Maybe more.
That pays for your health insurance right there.
Plus we’ve got weed for months!
And he just used regular old mail.
Its weird, what is it?
Its weed. ...Gotta be weed. What else would it be?
Its that kief for the vaporizer.
Man, he sent a lot of it.
I know!
I wonder what we mailed.
Its weed, what else can it be?
But I mean, did we mail weed?
When?
When we mailed that envelope for Jules. What’d we mail?
...I don’t know.
Cause I might have to beat his ass if we did that.
You would?
Yeah man. If Jules used us to put weed in a mailbox? We could lose our investigator’s license. We’d never get bonded. It’d be a big deal.
...Well, lets not rush to judgment.
Why shouldn’t we?
‘Cause we’ve been wrong ‘bout Jules every time we did that.
We were? When were we wrong?
Well, not wrong. Just...I don’t know. We don’t even know what this is!
That’s true. ...Maybe we need to vape some.
Now that’s a great idea!
So I fired-up my expensive new vaporizer that I bought to save my 9/11 ravaged lungs; dropped a bit of the kief in there to vape.
Got the momentum going...
Took a deep pull...
And oh...wow! The light, flowery taste. The perfumed smell. The leaden buzz that quickly seeped into my muscles and gave me heavy limbs.
HASH! Are you kidding me? Hash?! Oh man, I haven’t seen that in the States in forever. I mean, maybe you can get some out in Colorado--at one of those clinics; but never in my 10 years of New York have I encountered it.
Yet the taste was undeniable.
I eased back into my leather office chair and proceeded to vape the rest of what I’d put in the machine, when:
Ring, ring.
Ring, ring.
Ring, ring.
Ring, ring.
“Hey Buttons.”
“Lodo!--sweetheart. Did you get those documents from my boyfriend Aaron Rodgers?” (laughs)
“Uh,...yeah. I think I did. Didn’t expect that.
“I know, right? Don’t you just love it?”
“Well,..sort of. Yeah, I suppose. Though I have to say, I’m a little surprised by the amount of docs you sent, if you get my mea...”
“Lodo! Did I hear Buttons say you got those papers we sent you?!”
(heavy sigh) “Uh, yeah. Hey Jules, I got ‘em. Thanks,..I guess. But listen, do you really think its smart to...”
“No need to thank me brother. You’re family now.”
“Wow Jules. Okay. But again, I mean, I was surprised when I saw the amount of...”
“There’s more where that came from brother. You want more? I can call my guy and have him send anoth..”
“No Jules, that’s not what I’m saying at all. In fact, just the oppos...”
“No worries brother. I’ll call my guy when our flight lands. We’re just getting ready to boar...”
“No Jules, shut up and listen to what I’m sayi...”
“What? I can’t hear you Lodo--they’re boarding our plane right now. Glad you got that and I’ll call my guy after we land!”
“No Jules! Would you listen for a sec...”
But he’d already hung-up the phone.
...Freaking guy. Things certainly weren’t gonna be the same without him, and you can bet I was rather thankful for that.
Still, as I sat in my ergonomic, leather chair and vaped the last of what I ‘d thrown in my machine, my mellow high made it hard to keep the anger up.
How much fun was that Cotto fight?
Which he paid for with that credit card.
So what? Has anyone tried to contact us about that? Its over.
There’s still time.
How ‘bout that crab meat and the pheasant under glass? When’s the next time we’ll eat that?
I’m not sure we ever had it before.
True, true. And what about that Dave Douglas show? Will you ever forget that in a billion years?
How could I? We’ve got all those discs Jules bought us.
I doubt Dave Douglas will forget it either.
That’s a shared story we have for sure.
But what about that envelope we mailed?
What about it? It was already a week ago. Wherever it was going, it got there. Besides, who knows what was in it? We’re just assuming.
Cause we got all this hash!
Indeed we do.
By now my mood had flipped. I inspected the two large bags of hash and couldn’t contain the big smile that came across my face.
This will last months.
And its so freaking good! I guess that Jules was alright after all. For a week anyway.
I shared a laugh with myself as I slowly continued to draw on my vaporizer and again reviewed the events of the last week. Each memory instigated a chuckle or light-hearted groan as I pulled hit after hit off my machine.
But suddenly it became hard to get a draw out of it. Each pull yielded less and less vape; and soon I couldn’t even get any air through the tube. Like it was stopped up.
I turned off the machine, let the stem cool down, then inspected the specially made, ceramic screen.
What the...?
Unlike weed, the hash inside my machine had become all sticky and gummy when heated. Like a tar-ball. It literally fused itself to the glass stem and plastic tube; and it gummed-up the specially made ceramic screen.
I tried to clean the screen, but it was hopeless; nor would it have mattered anyway since the glass stem that draws the vape was now ensconced in a thick layer of impenetrable, hardened black goo, which now rendered the whole $300 dollar machine useless.
I stared at the gummed-up works of my vaporizer still not grasping that it was ruined. That took time.
But eventually I found myself at the sink where I fruitlessly scrubbed at the damaged equipment. As I did so my focus shifted back to those two big bags of hash that now lay on my kitchen counter, and I was left with the sense that Jules hadn't gone anywhere at all. 
"Margarito!"
Cotto!
* WRITER'S NOTE: The fact-to-fiction ratio of this blog is not one I wish to discuss. That said, there is one. Don't believe everything you read.
**ADDITIONAL NOTE: All pics (with the exception of those in which I appear) were stolen off Google Images and are included simply to enhance the story. Copyrights may exist.
"It knew what coach expected and by golly it performed." 
The day after Dave Douglas was Wednesday--my last day spent with Buttons and Jules. They left on Thursday; but their flight was early in the morning, so Wednesday was it for us.
Now reader, I’m aware of the risks of a non-linear narrative; but for my purposes I’m gonna skip to Thursday--the day of their flight back west, and the final impression left.
I should mention that we got freaking HAMMERED on Wednesday. I mean all day and night since by then I’d had five days with Buttons and Jules--so my liver was bloated as a football and in prime alcohol absorption mode. It knew what coach Grdzak expected and by golly it performed.
Thursday AM should have been one long intermission. Just lay back and dream and sleep off the booze. Except...
Ring. ring.
Ring. ring.
Ring. Ring.
Ring. Ring.
Oh man. Why’s your phone even on Lodo?
I initially had no intention to answer, but I’ve been told to keep my cellphone away from my balls and my head, so its oftentimes buried deep in my backpack. That said, its set to ring a lot of times before it goes to voicemail. So that fucker would not stop.
Ring. Ring.
Ring. ring.
Ring. ring.
Ring. ring.
Ring. ring.
Ring. ring.
(heavy sigh). The phone’s display said BUTTONS, so I answered.
“Hey Buttons.”
“Cotta! Cotta! Cotta! Cotta!”
“It’s Cotto Buttons.”
“Whatever Lodo--we love you. Really. We were just sitting here at our gate talking ‘bout all the wonderful things we did. We saw Cotto and Margarito and Dave Douglas and watched The Packers play the Giants.”
“We watched that on TV Buttons.”
“I know! But we still had so much fun. Anyway, I’m gonna put Jules on cause I know he wants to say goodbye--but we love you and want to see you come out to us.”
“Okay, Buttons. I lov...”
“Hey brother! Did we wake you?”
“Uh, hey Jules. No,.yeah,...maybe a little bit.”
“Ha! ha! I knew we would. Well listen man, I wont keep you. We just wanted to let you know what a great tour guide you were. Now I can say I’ve been to Madison Square Garden and eaten duck in Chinatown at 4 in the morning. Plus my kid’s gonna shit a brick when he sees that pic of me and that drummer.”
“That’s great man. And listen you went way over and beyond the cal...”
BZZZZZZZZZ!!!
BZZZZZZZZZ!!!
“Holy cow! What’s that man?”
“Oh shit, that’s my intercom Jules. Someone must be downstairs.”
I rolled out my bed to look out the window, but couldn’t see who was downstairs.
“...You still there Lodo?”
“Yeah Jules. Just wanted to see who that is. ...Not expecting anything. Maybe they’ve got the wrong...”
BZZZZZZZZZZ!!!
BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!!!
“Oh fuck me Jules, I can’t listen to that.”
“Yeah, if its the postman they probably need you to sign something. Well, anyway--thanks again brother!” Jules said as we hung-up simultaneously.
Probably needs you to sign something. I assumed that was a throwaway comment ‘til a few moments later. After I threw on some clothes, stepped into my flip-flops, and made my way downstairs where I encountered a postman with an overnight delivery envelope. The guy wasn’t my usual carrier, and in his hand was one of those document-sized, express envelopes--the kind of which I last saw when I first met Jules.
“You ringing the buzzer?” I asked the postman. He was young and wore his crisp uniform very tight.
“Are you apartment # 3?” he asked.
“...Is that who you’re looking for?”
The kid smiled. “Grdzak?” he asked. “Lodo Grdzak?”
I looked at the envelope he held in his hand. It was the exact same envelope--at least in terms of size and dimensions as the one I’d mailed.
“...Is that who you’re looking for?”
“Yeah,” the kid said. “Is that you or not?”
“...I’m not expecting anything.”
“Well someone sent this to you.”
“...But I’m not expecting anything.”
“Well, I suppose you don’t have to sign for it if you don’t want to.”
We stood silently in the doorway a few moments as I collected my thoughts.
“...Who sent it?”
The kid’s face registered impatience for the first time, but he looked at the envelope.
“Its from Seattle. Listen, are you Lodo Grdzak or not? Otherwise I’ll ring the right apartment. I’m not sure what the confusion is here.”
“It's not about confusion,” I answered as I leaned against the doorjamb and squinted into the morning sun. “Christ man, I just woke up.” 
* NOTE: Due to the length of this post, I'm going to split into some additional parts. Next installment in a few days.
* ADDITIONAL NOTE: All pics used herein (with the exception of me) were simply stolen off Google Images.
Mark Guiliana:
A good half-hour into Dave’s set, Jules still hadn’t returned from his phone call. I think it was assumed (and certainly hoped by most of us) that he wasn’t coming back; but sometime around the last 2 or 3 tunes he returned and took a seat. By now Buttons had moved to sit on Phylicia Rashad’s side of the table, so Jules sat next to me at our table’s end.
I never figured Jules would be much of a jazz fan--particularly since he missed so much of the show; but he returned with a charged energy and focus on the music that surprised me. He was really locked into the drummer and seemed to genuinely hear the melodies, reacting strongly when he anticipated the turnarounds or liked a phrase. In his hands he held his cellphone which he clutched like a talisman. He clasped it between his palms and squeezed it as though in reverence, while he did everything but dance in his seat. At one point he even looked close to tears and I couldn’t help but wonder what he was on.
And how I could get some.
As the show ended and the lights went back up, Jules sat in his chair as though stunned at the short set.
“What?! They just started!”
Even Phylicia Rashad had to laugh at that.
As for me, I left for the bathroom almost immediately since now I could see everyone’s face as they looked our way and snickered or sneered. I know lots of regulars at Jazz Standard and the manager too, so I wanted a bit of separation from Jules as the crowd filed out.
Not only did I use the bathroom, but I stepped outside to steal a few pulls off my one-hitter. Snag a little peace before Buttons and Jules sucked down the rest of my stash. I allowed enough time for the crowd (particularly The Huxtables) to leave, and only then proceeded back inside, where I found Buttons and Jules engaged in a heated conversation with none other than Dave Douglas.
Oh no.
Jules was jabbing that index finger of his into Dave Douglas’ chest, and I could hear Buttons drop a few excited You betcha’s into the mix as I attempted to spin on my heels and make a second quick exit. Only Buttons saw me first.
“Hey!--there he is. Lodo! Come here. Look who we’re talking to! Hey Dave, this is the guy who brought us here. Lodo. We love him.”
You can imagine how excited Dave Douglas was to meet me after that introduction; though I like to believe as our hands shook and our eyes locked that he understood my predicament. I can’t recall exactly what was said beyond the standard perfunctories, before The Huxtables--who (God damnit!) still hadn’t left yet--passed us on their way out the door.
Phylicia Rashad said nothing as she smiled towards Dave Douglas, then managed to imbibe her expression with some condescension as she flashed it towards us. Jules didn’t bother to engage her; but instead turned towards the husband.
“Hey there, my bad if there was any misunderstanding,” Jules said as he extended his hand for a shake, “I’m sorry brother, I just thought we could really talk is all.”
The man looked at Jules with that same curiosity that Phylicia had before all the trouble started. As though not sure what to make of him. He looked at Jules, then me. Then back at Phylicia Rashad.
“Well brother?” Phylicia asked with a laugh towards her husband.
The man laughed too, but in a different way. Phylicia was derisive, whereas the husband was more... Well, as an investigator I can only report that “he accepted Jules’ hand, then walked away without comment.”
“Hey!” Jules said to me once the Huxtables had passed. “Look at this.”
Jules turned the display window of his cheap Samsung flip-phone in my direction where I could read a received text. It read:
Mark Guiliana is my favorite drummer. Dave Douglas is a bad-ass!
“You see that?” he asked as he swatted at my shoulder, “that’s from my son!”
Jules hopped up and down like an 1840’s prospector as he turned the phone round to read the text again. He read and re-read it as his smile beamed brighter and brighter; then he turned the phone towards Dave Douglas and shoved it towards his face.
“You see that man?!” he said.
Dave acknowledged the text even as he retreated back on his stool like Phylicia Rashad had done.
“Maybe you should buy him a disc,” Dave mentioned somewhat casually. “I’ll sign it if you want.”
Dave gestured towards the bar where several boxes of compact discs were displayed. I gave a brief rundown on Dave’s career last installment, but in case you aren't aware, he has lots of different projects. He has the Keystone group; the Dave Douglas Quintet; he sometimes has a Big Band; and he has Brass Ecstasy. Other line-ups too. In fact, I would say that one of the things I like most ‘bout Dave Douglas is that I don’t like everything he does. He has lots of different projects and experiments. And I respect that, even when its not my favorite.
But my point here is that there were several discs from each of Dave's half-dozen projects for sale.
“Which one should we get Lodo?” Buttons asked as she inspected the various options.
“Get the Keystone,” I told her. “You can’t lose with that band.”
“Well what about this one?” she asked, purposely loud enough for Dave to hear. “Dave Douglas Quintet? This one’s total crap?”
“No Buttons--did I say that? Of course its good. I just happen to like the Keystone.”
“Well to hell with that!” Jules suddenly broke in, “get one of everything. I’m not sure which is Billy’s favorite.”
So Buttons selected a literal handful of discs and gave them to Jules.
“What about you Lodo?” she asked. “Is there one that you want? We’ll buy it for you.”
“Oh no Buttons, thanks. You don’t have to do that.”
At this Jules suddenly became offended and turned on me.
“Brother--you don’t think I know I don’t have to? I want to! This guy’s my son’s favorite! And you brought us here without me even knowing it. Come on man, pick out one of these discs. Pick a couple ya asshole! Don’t ruin the moment.”
So okay reader, I picked out a few discs; but even better was that now Dave began to warm-up to us a little bit. I got the chance to talk to him. Exchange a few thoughts on music and dogs and whatnot. Until suddenly,
“Hey you two! Look over here,” Buttons giggled as she drunkenly fumbled with her camera and took what I thought was a clumsy picture.
But now I think she took a great shot. 
* NOTE: Due to the length of this post, I'm going to split it into some more parts. Next installment--or a status on its completion in a few days.
*ADDITIONAL NOTE: All pics stolen off Google Images except for the shot of Dave Douglas and me. All rights reserved on my pic. Copyrights may exists on others.
