I turn off the radio. My hand is shaking a little. I push my typewriter aside. My name is Tom, and I'm a writer. So it is true, he's gone. I'm still having trouble believing it. I mean, I grew up with this guy, he's been around for as long as I can remember. I think that the fact that I didn't actually know him doesn't really help.
When you know someone, or I should say of someone like that, you kind of feel like they are immortal, you know they are going to die eventually, but you are still shocked when they do. I stand up, stroking my hair with my hand, grab my smokes and I go stand on my balcony. I remember all my memories tied to him. My first date on that song, my numerous depressions listening to all his hits to cheer myself up...I smile when I remember the first and only concert of him I went to, the emotions rushing to me when he arrived on stage.
My sister is probably going to cry a lot, wich means I'm going to have to take care of her house while she mourns the death of her idol, with her stereo on maximum, blaring all his greatest titles. I light out my cigarette on the rail of my balcony and stare at the sky for a few seconds. He will be missed.
This note goes out to Sky Sunlight Saxon, Farah Fawcett, Michael Jackson and to their families.
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