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Robert Brockway was (is? On a hiatus?) a columnist over at who made me laugh through hungover mornings on many an occasion. He was able to turn not just in ordinary experiences into comedy gold but every day problems and stresses. Brockway was a man, may, a writer with a beard and a glass of scotch (as is oft required of that  exemplary legion of depressives known as writers), and I related to, respected and was inspired by him. As his columns dropped off, I found myself missing his writing style and unique form of wit and wordsmith. Lucky for me, then, that I discovered his blog. At the link below is a short little tale he wrote for his friend’s ‘zine about youthful indiscretions. It made me nostalgic for the times I did stupid shit and didn’t have to worry about “responsibilities” and “adulthood” and “bills”.

When you’re finished reading that, check out and buy his novel Rx: A Tale of Electronegativity.