One of the eleven American soldiers who died in yesterday's helicopter crashes was a good friend during the five years that I spent in Boston. Thinking about anyone from that period of my life being dead is difficult. Hell, most times I feel like that portion of my life is still the current portion of my life.

I'd recently snapped a photo of the house that he lived in for four years, along with many of my other good friends, on a trip to Boston. When I posted it on Facebook it became a bit of an online reunion hub, with thinly veiled references posted by many about the debauchery that went on there. We half-heartedly talked about renting it out for the weekend and recreating a typical day there just for the hell of it. It probably never would have been the same had we actually done it, but now is there no question that it could never, ever be the same.