The Husband and I lived for many years in Austin, TX. Living there, we got to know the "mayor of South Austin," Danny Roy Young.
We'd go eat at his little cafe and Danny was almost always there. If you walked in, you were a friend. Many restaurant owners will walk around their business, greeting customers. Not Danny. He'd come to your table, grab a chair, turn it around and straddle it, and talk to you. Really talk to you.
He was right in the middle of the Austin music scene and seemed to know everyone. It was rare to eat at his tiny cafe and not see a musician there.
He always seemed happy. He ran his cafe, and played washboard in a band and just really seemed to love life. He'd drive all the way to Dublin, TX, to buy real Dr. Pepper syrup for his Dr. Peppers and ... really ... Dr. Pepper milkshakes. (They were delicious ... and oh, the cornmeal-crusted fried yellow squash ...)
Damn, Danny. It was too soon. Last time we saw you, on a visit, you gushed over all our kids and walked us out to our car. Because that was the kind of thing you did. With all your friends.
Which is to say, everyone.