floyd

Floyd was something else, too. Where Sid kept his hair cropped short, Floyd was into the process. Brother, he was something else. Sweet-talking. Debonair. Slick. Always showed up with a pair of hard-looking blondes. And sometimes one or both was almost scary looking. I got to know Floyd better than I knew Sid. I would become closest with Andy. Floyd was a high school dropout. Actually, he was a high school “kicked out.” I asked him why, once. He told me.

“I got angry and pulled a knife on a boy at school. It was lunch and he was messing with my food. And where I come from there’s two things you don’t mess with – someone’s name and someone’s food.”

Floyd disappeared, too, when the band broke up. Andy kept in touch with him for a time. Floyd was a tough one, though. No set phone. No stable address. Last we heard, through Andy, he was in jail, somewhere. Got in a fight. Stabbed someone. Andy says it was over food. I believed that. Had no reason not to. I don’t know, now, where Floyd is. Ralph and I tried, for a time, to locate him. Then, we gave up.