We visited him. He buzzed us in and we navigated our way through the dim, gray hallways. We rode a rickety elevator to the third floor and met him at his door. He invited us in, offered us drinks. A movie starring Jack Nicholson played on a small, dusty television. I asked him how he was doing. Buster slowly looked up from the makeshift easel supporting his latest videocassette project. “I am good, dude. I am good. You?�
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