I ran into the Rare Man on Telegraph Avenue today. He asked me:
“Hey Ace. Did Pink Cloud die? I heard from somebody that Pink Cloud died. Did Pink Cloud die?”
“Yes. Pink Cloud died,” i said. “He died last week.”
“Wow. Pink Cloud really died. I heard from somebody that Pink Cloud died.”
“Yes he died. He was 78. He died from luekemia.”
“Oh really?” said Rare. “Pink Cloud died?”
“Yes. He died. He had a full life. I saw Pink Cloud just a couple of weeks ago walking around on Telegraph. He lived a good full life walking around on two feet right to the end.”
“And he died?”
“Yes he died.”
I could tell Rare was trying to contemplate the larger subject of death and his own mortality by thinking about Pink Cloud’s death.
“How old are you, Rare?” I said.
“I’m 69,” said Rare.
“You’re in good shape for 69, Rare.”
Rare sat there for a moment and thought about it.
It was a poignant moment.