Drink up me hardies, yo ho..

there is a book, a book to write stuff about the dearly departed........my vocabulary fails me, no deep shit sayings, no words of kind comfort, no profound prose, no teary-eyed thank you's...just helplessness, failure, loss.

What am I feeling?

He was one of 'the Big Three' now there are two. Guys who started working together while I was in grammer school. Guys who have more years working together than not.

I take the walk to sign the book, still don't know what to write. My supervisor is already there. The room contains dinosaurs and newbies. I stand a bit, shake some hands, nod knowingly, don't say much, grab a coffee from the offerings, take a pass on the bacon and eggs and such, I feel ackward just standing so I go to see his drafting table, keeping my coffee cup at a safe distance. His drafting table, I had one just like it when I arrived at the hall, mine is long since gone, his remains, remains with drafting tools right where he left them on top of the final plan, tools that will most likely never be used again, some of the same tools are thrown in one of my drawers, some tools I do not have. I touch not a thing. I leave his area because the stillness bothers me. I find the book, now available, write my my bit and the book gets closed.
...