I'm going to miss you, Huell. I'll miss you asking me, "Didja git the creamed spinach?" at Musso's. I'll miss seeing you at the mail stop at Larchmont. I'll miss the time you made me play Opie to your Andy at Franklin Canyon and put a stick in my hand as we walked along the lake. I'll miss that wavy green and yellow shirt that had such little tiny stripes that they almost hovered off your shirt into the air. I'll miss that childlike wonder in your voice that made you call me on the way to Franklin Canyon to ask for directions.