I count myself lucky to have been with Justin for a little over 30 years now.
The eleven-year-old fresh-faced, placid kid, who moved in next door to me with his mum and dad, all those years ago, hasn't changed at all. I, on the other hand, have rotated a complete 360 during that time.
My tale of growing up can't have been much different to most young males of the mid-90's who yearned to make their mark on the world. Justin was my best mate. We both spluttered our way through the onslaught of raging hormones, school, college, then into the world of work.
I used several crutches including drugs, alcohol, bullying, gambling, unfulfilling sex and of course displaying all the loud, macho affectations that in reality deeply hid my true attributes.
Justin was always just Justin. He was always on an even keel. Justin never lost his temper, didn't blame anybody for anything, and was able to compromise in any situation.
As usual, alcohol, the determining factor that is often responsible for providing wonderful insights and laying grounds for new experiences, played its usual part. Jack Daniels, for which I still have a fond taste, liberally flowed whilst my life slowly changed for the better one momentous, eventful, rainy night.
Extreme heavy rain, and the fact my car was in the shop, was my excuse for not attending our usual Friday night poker game. Justin was happy to come over to my place. He wasn't unduly upset when hearing of our usual poker night being cancelled. Thinking back to that night, I'm quite sure Justin had planned to spend the night at my place whatever had transpired. Having carefully secured his car in my garage, Justin set about consuming copious amounts of macaroons, Cheddar cheese, and Jack Daniels Old No. 7 Tennessee whiskey.