Damn, that actually looks like a dude I used to know named Woody. Well, nickname, but his first name was Woodrow, so who could blame him for refusing to answer to it.

Legit, it isn’t him, but it could be his brother. Same style of clothes even.

Good dude, my Woody. Always willing to chip in for whatever we were getting, even if he wasn’t having any. Dude had some major intestinal issues, so he couldn’t eat just anything. And no, that’s not an excuse for a joke. Dude may have had a messed up relationship with food, but it was because of multiple surgeries and the autoimmune disorder that led to them. So, yeah, he tended to go overboard on the stuff he could eat. Fuck anyone that objects to that.

Anyway, we’d be doing a d&d weekend, or maybe just hanging out. He’d pitch in for pizza even though he couldn’t have any without horrible pain. He knew we’d hook him up with something he could eat (and I kept shit in stock for him), so it briefed balanced out.

Ended up moving to diving Wyoming of all places. Lost contact back in the late 90s, but heard he’s in Georgia now.