That friend I used to crush beer cans with. Used to crack up with. Used to get fucked up with. Used to get into antics with. Used to make new slang words with. Or reappropriate others. Used to hit Blind School with. Almost every day. Used to bitch about stuff with. Used to ride around South City on bikes with. Used to talk about hoes with. Used to share songs with. Townes. Neil. Moby Grape. Ghostface. Used to shed tears with. With him, I used to answer his phone calls in the middle of the night. And he mine. Used to bomb hills with. Used to drive hours just to have lunch with. That friend, our dear friend, is gone.
Our lives were better because John Hood was a part of them. Let us be thankful of that, however brief it was. Let us remember him. Always.
This is a heavy one. But I’ll carry it the rest of my days. And if you were fortunate enough to be a close friend of his, you will too. We’ll share that burden.
By god.
-Grizz
