Aicila
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There is a guy who rides a motorcycle. He is a good guy for the most part. He makes mistakes, just like everyone else but has lots of friends. Most like him. He gets drunk one night, he jumps on his motorcycle, flies down the road takes a turn too fast, hits a curb, rolls off his bike, turns his brain into soup, and dies two days later.
Today is his memorial service. I knew him. I liked him. I HATE people who drink and drive. I wish I could stop each and every one of them and knock some sense into them. If any of them were to ever hurt me or my family, especially my daughter, then there better be someone around to hold me back.
I am very torn about going to this memorial service. This person was not a close friend, but he was a friend. I worked with him. We joked with eachother, made fun of eachother. I just don't know.
Today is his memorial service. I knew him. I liked him. I HATE people who drink and drive. I wish I could stop each and every one of them and knock some sense into them. If any of them were to ever hurt me or my family, especially my daughter, then there better be someone around to hold me back.
I am very torn about going to this memorial service. This person was not a close friend, but he was a friend. I worked with him. We joked with eachother, made fun of eachother. I just don't know.