I had been in Italy for a couple months. Nothing too glamorous, just working in a shipyard somewhere west of Venice. Once I got back in the U.S., I found out that Old Dirty Bastard had died. I immediately phoned my best friend.
Me: “Dude! ODB died?
F: “Yeah… you didn’t know?
Me: Dude I was out of town! Why didn’t you call me?
F: Oh I dunno, I figured you woulda heard.
Me: Like some Italian is gonna run up to me in the street and say? ‘Scuse! Sir! Americano? I so sorry for you loss… the… Aged Dirty Bastard… he isa dead!”