My best friend from college got married on Saturday. And so the Prairie Mafia, or we who remain, donned our best suits and mounted up once more to watch the walk, get beligerently drunk, and bid farewell to the first of the old guard to fall, and through him, perhaps also farewell to an era of our lives. If I cried maybe just a little bit, well, whose fucking business is it, anyway?
We love you, Nikolas, and we would never have let her take you from us if we didn't love her too. You'll do all right.
Then there were four.