Look, I don't know if there's an afterlife. I don't know if souls continue when the meat expires. Talking on the phone is gross and should only be used to report deaths, but I tell you what - if I could find the digits to reach my friend Milo who died last year - I would have him on speaker begging him to sing his guinea pig song to me faster than my bra comes off when I get home from work nowadays. I'd share the link to James McMurtry's song " Long Island Sound " and eat up his reaction. I'd ask him where to go after devouring all the Travis McGee and Dave Robichaux novels. I'd tell him I miss him. I'd tell him I love him. Digital messaging would be ideal, because I'd really like to send my old high school friend C.Z., who died a few years ago, a link to the cheesy "Eye of the Tiger" video and poke fun at him for purchasing the trumpet sheet music in middle school, though I was a chum and helped him learn it. Recently the Rock...
Cheaper than therapy.