1989
Richard dies on the evening of October 17th, 1989, a date known to every San Franciscan. And when he dies, though I have been told in time to know, I'm not there. Gary has called me. Susan has called me and for days I've known his time is getting close. But that last afternoon, after hanging up the phone on Gary, instead of making my way there immediately, I sit back down to finish the article I was writing when he called.
An article entitled, somewhat ironically, 'Urgency Addiction: Why You're Not As Busy As You Think'.
It is a perfect October afternoon, blue and balmy. I have an orange juice — freshly squeezed — before me. I am wearing my favourite, most comfortable T-shirt, my fastest pen is between my finger and thumb, filling my page with the words and phrases that will keep m
