by R. Hooman
One of the things I loved about Andy, and maybe even the reason we connected so well, is my propensity to dish it hard no holds barred and Andy’s unflinching quality to dish it right back harder. Didn’t really matter what I hurled at him or when, he had a sharp and quick response. He was NEVER offended, never hurt, never personal about that shit. In hindsight, no external thing was gonna take Andy down. Tough as nails. Even in the midst of one of his paralyzing bouts with depression, sprawled on the orange loveseat at 14 Bergen, bouncing back and forth between crying and crippling pain, I’d take a jab at him and bust his balls about something. After a beat, he’d shoot one right back, cracking a brief grin, really proud of himself and his remark, before fading back again.