i have the unwanted responsibility of breaking bad news to people, as i wander into town i'm flocked by familiar faces who offer sympathy, tears and hugs, grown men weeping openly as they embrace me, 'you knew him better than any of us, what happened?'
i can't answer the questions but i do say we will have to have a big dinner after the funeral where we get together and celebrate the mighty life of the mighty man. 
yeah that goes down well, i break the news to the people in the bookshop, 'ah, he was a lonely man really' they say.
yeah they are right, he was lonely.
they are saddened.
i have to walk into the butcher, a place dr. crack used to hang out quite a lot, it was something he loved, he would drive all over the city looking for hidden away specialists in animal meat, it made him happy. the butchers are shocked, really shocked and in my head i'm thinking, 'but you chop up dead things all day, you must have come to terms with death and life, all the poor animals you hack away at must have taught you something, but these guys suddenly start sobbing.
'does he owe you money,' i say confused at this sudden display of affection.
later a group of people ask me if he was drinking at home when he died. i'm sure he was, i can't say exactly, but he loved his wines, two bottles a night, he loved drinking, i like smoking spliffs, we were an odd couple of clowns, total opposing forces but with a lot of respect for each other. 'maybe he took some pills and ended it' someone asks.
'yeah maybe he did.'
i have to retreat back to mission control, it's to much for me, slightly surreal, as i drive home i start laughing for some strange reason, grief i guess, it comes in strange ways, i can't fucking understand it, it's a beautiful day, why's everyone so miserable, he would have hated that.