My brother was the most talented person I’ve ever known. That’s not hyperbole or the exaggerated claims of a grieving big brother. It’s truth.
Maybe I’ve known a better painter. (Maybe not)
Maybe I’ve known a better musician.
Maybe I’ve known someone who could hit a baseball farther.
Maybe I’ve known a better skateboarder.
Maybe I’ve known a better break dancer.
The list goes on.
The point is, I’ve known no one that could take on all of those things and excel at all of them in ways that even the most jaded critic would acknowledge.
Anything he put his mind to he excelled at. I’m glad he never really took to golf.
Now, he is gone. And the world has lost his future creations. And I’ve lost my brother, whom I loved.
Tony D. Writes Pulp Fiction 