Greg, in a thousand thoughts

Greg is the kind of friend you don’t have to wonder about. He’s there—always, without question. Not loud, not demanding, but constant. The kind of steady presence that makes life feel just a little more grounded.

He won’t always say how much he cares, but he doesn’t need to. It’s in the small things—the way he checks in, the way he shows up, the way he keeps track of what matters to the people he loves.

His mind moves fast, hopping from one passion to the next, but there are a few things that never change. Louise, his best girl. Coffee, his quiet dream. And us, his friends, who know—without a doubt—just how lucky we are to have him.

This is for Greg.

Greg, in a thousand thoughts

Coffee’s brewing. (Dark roast. Maybe light? No—dark.) Louise is fed. (Good girl. Best girl.) Emails piling. (Ignore.) Friends? Good. Safe? Probably. Should check. Will check. Checks.

Mind like a pinball machine— New hobbies? Too many. Guitar? Fun. Chess? Hard. Sourdough starter? Dead. Onto the next.

But coffee—coffee stays. Something about the warmth, the ritual, the way it makes sense when nothing else does. A shop, maybe. A small one. A quiet one. No servers. No IT tickets. No deadlines. Just steam, and the hum of a dream.

He won’t say it, but we know: Greg cares in the way he shows up. In the way he remembers. In the way he’d drop everything—without question, without pause— Just to make sure we’re okay.

A friend, a rock, a quiet kind of love. The group’s anchor. The group’s dad. And maybe, someday, the best damn barista this town has ever seen.