We met at a taco joint. At a long table of mutual friends, he was seated across from me. Saddled way, way back in his seat, this guy was quiet, brooding. He was wearing a deep V-neck t-shirt and his black fedora was tipped forward, covering his brow. When he did speak, it was with this husky, marble-mouthed baritone. Later, I came to find out he was harboring a bit of a cold that night. That night, we talked about stuff guys who are just meeting talk about. — What do you do? Where did you get that hat? You like to quote movies, too? These fried fish tacos are better than any fried fish tacos in the history of fried fish tacos. Do you want another beer? — Since that taco night, mostly through encounters when our paths cross while touring this wonderful country of ours, this mild-mannered gent has gone on to become something of a confidant, a champion, a check and a balance in my life. We’re friends who rarely see each other, but when we do, there’s always a spark of inspiration that emanates from an unspoken knowledge that we’re fighting the same fight.
Ladies and gentlemen, this is Seth Philpott. Become a fan.