One year after death
I assumed I knew pain. That I had experienced heartache before, but I was wrong. As I held Bosco, the truest friend I had ever known, in my arms as he died, my soul bled in a way I had never come close to experiencing before.
I won’t go into a long story about his life here. Many of his accomplishments and adventures are chronicled alreaady in these pages. Although many of them are not. Some of them are mine to keep. Some of them are only worthy of telling around a crackling campfire, or three shots of whiskey deep.
