As the years pass the memories of my youth become more vivid. Minor details jump out at me now. I don't know if this happens because I am moving swiftly toward the later stages of my life and don't want to give up my youth or maybe I can finally see through the fog of many years of depression. Doesn't matter now.

I've been trying to teach Joey Fields the fine art of texting. Not that he can't do it himself, he is a smart dude, smarter than me for sure. We were in my cave last night and he said that he was going to send his first unaided text. Just for practice. He keyed his phone for a minute and hit send then he smiled that smile that says "you should get this one."

"Look man, a Spanish bird."

Not much of a story here, just an event between three stoned friends from twenty nine years ago.

We had been partaking of substances that are frowned upon these days. The morning was in its early life of that particular day and Joey, Billy Shelton and I were in the den of my house in Indian Hills. Safe and comfortable. Billy was curled and sleeping as only Billy could sleep in those days. Joey and I were discussing the cosmos or the gdp of Singapore or something that only Joey and I could discuss. He is the deepest dude ever. He was then and still is. My cosmic brother.

All at once Billy sits straight up, looks to the ceiling, points and says "look man, a Spanish Bird." He then goes back to his blissful slumber. How could anyone ever forget a moment like that? Even twenty nine years later.