years ago in my gypsy days I passed through gainesville and had the pleasure of knowing simon for a brief time. he was working at kesl's cony island and i used to hang out there with my friends on those hot summer days - writing, talking and day dreaming. simon had a shirt. a burnt orange shirt that i loved. i told him i wanted it. on the night i was leaving town, i was sitting around my house with friends talking about the things and people we would miss. i had my back to the door - we were talking about simon - and i heard the screen open. simon walked in and without a word handed me the shirt and left. without thinking - i looked in the pocket ... and there was a short poem on a napkin i still have that fucking shirt. i still have that poem ... still think simon's the best ...