I am sitting on a porch in Jersey with my friend’s father, Fabian. Fabian’s sounds like he stepped out of a Martin Scorsese and I miss that living in L.A. He adjusts the Velcro of his back support belt while he talks.

"I got drafted into the Army. For Korea, you know?  So this one day I walk in reporting for duty to the CO’s office. And this guy was sitting there. Behind a desk, you know, answering phones. Everybody called him the last buffalo. Mountain of a guy working as the receptionist in the officer’s office. I mean he looked like he was living his life in a dollhouse sitting behind that desk. I developed a thing for this guy. I’m telling ya, if we woulda been friends growing up, I’d have never lost a street fight. He’d a come in, the fight would be over in two hits. He hits you, you hit the floor.

“The manila files, fuck! He was surrounded, ya know? This was during Korea, and the Army had him at a desk job because they couldn't put him on the front lines because he was the last guy in his family line. Now, if there was anybody who looked like the perfect soldier it was this guy. But his sperm was too important. Hence, the last buffalo. The last buffalo was waiting out the war behind a desk. Lucky him.”