Jason was an old high school buddy of mine. The nicest person I’ve ever met, and I can safely say I’ll never meet another nicer. He was The Beatles of kindness. Unstoppable. We played trumpet together in high school and engaged in a series of misadventures throughout our lives, including a night involving me dumping a box filled with fireworks that cost triple digits into a bonfire at a lake to piss off some drunk rednecks who were being assholes.

During my second stint in Florida, I was down on my luck and needed a way out. The prospect of directing an independent film in Washington practically fell into my lap and I took it, hopping in my car and making the 3,000 mile drive across the country. I made a pit stop in my hometown to find my good friend Jason, living at home with his parents and desperately needing a break from this two horse town. Appreciating the company, I welcomed him and Joe for the other half of my trip north by northwest. Along the way we stopped for a random hike in a random area, me still dressed in classy clothing from my homemade high school reunion, and listened to a stellar audiobook by the great Robert Charles Wilson.

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