#91, Diane Morse

Diane, you were so maney.

i had never heard anyone use that word before and, quite frankly, had never met anyone as bursting with life as you. You called weed nuggets 'Percivals' and it was impossible not to laugh in your presence. A smirky grin, mohawked mop of bleached curls, dimples and tight jeans with a studded belt, we worked together at the flower shop while rocking out to such '80s greats as Duran Duran, Pet Shop Boys and New Order. It was always a rollickin' good time when you were on the schedule the same day as me, and i looked forward to it. You smoked a lot of pot and fell in love with someone else's boyfriend, who fell back. You two caused more than a bit of a commotion, and then moved to New Orleans together, where you and i quickly fell out of touch. Except once, a few years later, when i heard through the grapevine (maybe you'd called the flower shop?) that he had died, of a stroke, at the young age of twenty-something. You had never left his side at the end and said it was beautiful and pain-full, the hardest thing you had ever had to (and would ever have to) do. A couple of phone calls after that, and you were gone. i don't know where you are or if you're happy, but i hope life has evened out and opened up for you.