Jesus Ike, It's so hot in St.Louis today. The humidity is smothering me from the inside and it's hard to concentrate with the salt running down my face. If I had been given a choice between you and the other owners, I still would have chosen the man with the silver birch hair heavy with wisdom. I was so jealous of that hair. I wanted to know what you knew. Hindsight hits like a brick to the head. Whenever I had a question you were my ace-in-the-hole, only a phone call away. And I could always count on your rare and random appearances to bring me a message from a distant time like the super black and monolithic american roadways. And if this pain is so so bright like Kansas during the sunflower bloom, how much greater goodness left by your life for so many others to consume? You're such a beautiful asshole for deciding to wear the ivory parchment. Though you've left us, you're still here. Like a cars' annoying crash avoidance warning, or the welcoming keys-in- the-ignition bell letting us know there's still enough battery left to start the engine, again.