My wife called me at work to tell me Richie Hass had died and the afternoon went by at a crawl, in a daze, and when I got in the car and turned on the radio out came Fearless, perfectly timed, and as I drove along I remembered sitting in Marc Mylar’s parlor with Richie and a big bomber joint, Meddle spinning on the turntable, and we passed the jay back and forth and said nothing, just listening.