This week I learned that an old friend had passed. One of the funniest guys I’ve ever known. Super Dave.
I hadn’t seen him in a long time. An old scooter friend, who later got me hooked on BMWs and motorcycling. He worked on my GS, fixed it, modded it. Always wanted to join me on rides and camping trips. Those things never happened. He wanted to marry Serbrina and I. He was going to figure out how to make it legit and take a course online or something. He was going to wear a tuxedo t-shirt. You know, to keep it classy. Damn Dave.
He took a bad turn and ended up on the streets. I heard stories of where he was hanging out, but it seemed crazy. One day I rode down to Long Beach to visit Russ and Laura. I took the Blue Line back and settled in for the ride back to LA. I saw what I thought to be an older homeless guy get on the train. He came up to me and asked for some change. I didn’t realize it until he spoke, but it was Dave. I could tell by his voice and his eyes. He looked older than me, not younger, like he was. Somewhere inside this shell was my old friend. I didn’t know what to do. So I did nothing. Just watched him. Something I regret to this day. I don’t know what I could’ve done, but I know I didn’t do shit. I looked for him when I got off the train, but he was gone. Last week he took his own life by walking in front of that same train. Fuckin’ Dave.
Dave, Ryan and I went to see Fugazi at the Shrine in ’95. I listen to this live show all the time. Now, when I hear the crowd yell I’ll listen for Dave. I know he’s in there somewhere.