One morning I woke up and walked over to get a T-shirt out of my drawer.  I grabbed the one on top.  As I am putting it on, I noticed some writing on the tag.  It read Property of Charlie.  If found, please call 867-5309 (same as the song...weird right?).  So I called the number and Charlie answers.  I say, "How the hell did your shirt get in my drawer?!".  He replies, "Why the F did you steal my shirt?".  We argued for awhile and threatened to beat the crap out of each other.  We decided to meet and hash it out. 

   We met and argued some more.  We finally decided to have lunch and dicuss it intelligently.  Neither of us could answer the riddle.  However, from that point on we became best friends.  We hung out, went to baseball games, we saw the Mets win game 6, he was the Best Man at my wedding, I helped him get over his mom's death, and he was there for my family when I was addicted to angel dust.  Our friendship was without boundaries.  We were best friends for the past 25 years.

   Today he was hit by a bus and his spinal column was severed.  He died instantly.  Right now, the only thing I can think about is how in the hell did his F'ing t-shirt get in my drawer?