Unbelievable
Yesterday was a gorgeous day. I woke up pretty early and exercised and then headed into town with my roomate to meet our friend Josh and Jenny for lunch at the Other Side Cafe. The weather was perfect t-shirt weather, the lunch was awesome, the day was off to a great start.
After lunch I headed across Mass. Ave to wait for a bus that would bring me to Central sq. I called my friend Tacky to shoot the shit and see if he wanted to hang out later on after I got out of work. We went back and forth for a few and then he asked
"Oh did you hear about Greg?"
"No. Greg Puricelli?"
"Yeah. He's... he was killed."
I screamed at the bus stop.
Greg was at the opening at the Red Dot gallery back in February. He and his fiancee Audrey had showed up and it was great to see them both. Audrey was there in my highschool art class when I first picked up a paint brush. I knew Greg for years having grown up down the street from him in West Quincy.
That night it had been a couple years since I saw him since he moved to Arizona to become a master motorcycle technician.
He had just recently moved back. He congratulated me on my artwork and invited me to come to Daytona with him and his buddies, one of whom I bought my first motorcycle off of. They were getting a trailer to bring their bikes down and I was welcome to come with them and ride the first week in March.
That invitation stuck with me all month and I wished I could have gone. I thought of the invitation often. I hadn't seen him in years and he happily invited me along. Sweetest thing ever. That is how I'll remember Greg.
Monday, March 12 he was killed on his motorcycle when he was struck by a van. He was on his brand new Ducati sportbike that he told me about excitedly at the art show.
I haven't stopped thinking about Greg and Audrey since I heard. I won't for a long time.
Bye, buddy.
After lunch I headed across Mass. Ave to wait for a bus that would bring me to Central sq. I called my friend Tacky to shoot the shit and see if he wanted to hang out later on after I got out of work. We went back and forth for a few and then he asked
"Oh did you hear about Greg?"
"No. Greg Puricelli?"
"Yeah. He's... he was killed."
I screamed at the bus stop.
Greg was at the opening at the Red Dot gallery back in February. He and his fiancee Audrey had showed up and it was great to see them both. Audrey was there in my highschool art class when I first picked up a paint brush. I knew Greg for years having grown up down the street from him in West Quincy.
That night it had been a couple years since I saw him since he moved to Arizona to become a master motorcycle technician.
He had just recently moved back. He congratulated me on my artwork and invited me to come to Daytona with him and his buddies, one of whom I bought my first motorcycle off of. They were getting a trailer to bring their bikes down and I was welcome to come with them and ride the first week in March.
That invitation stuck with me all month and I wished I could have gone. I thought of the invitation often. I hadn't seen him in years and he happily invited me along. Sweetest thing ever. That is how I'll remember Greg.
Monday, March 12 he was killed on his motorcycle when he was struck by a van. He was on his brand new Ducati sportbike that he told me about excitedly at the art show.
I haven't stopped thinking about Greg and Audrey since I heard. I won't for a long time.
Bye, buddy.
posted by Hooker at 11:49 AM
3 Comments:
Wow. I'm sorry, Matt. I've heard those dreaded words myself... sadly, more than once... and it's definitely more difficult to wrap your head around death when it takes someone your own age, someone with good health and a bright future. I'll be thinking of you.
ugh. the story and the photo got me all choked up and i didn't even know him. so sad. i hate this part.
So sorry about your friend. What an awful thing to happen.
Post a Comment
<< Home