He was your fathers best friend, you knew that. He was almost like an uncle to you. Sort of. I mean, you wouldn’t ever feel that way around an uncle actually, so maybe more like a teacher. Or maybe he was just Gojo. The older man who was sitting at your kitchen bar, waiting for your dad to get back from the corner store with beers. He eyes you up and down. He pulls out about $50. “You’ve gotten bigger, so here. Why don’t you go buy some stuff?”