Listening to the terror through the wall

Not that I knew him that well. Not that I knew him that well but I considered him a friend, a "fellow traveler" I might have said and we met once on the long stair steps of a bus station. He had a latte, I had a coffee and an orange and we talked about the road, experiencing deliberatly, of art.

I don't know what to say so I say "shit man. shit." He's a heroin addict now and shit man, I wish you'd told me he was dead.