I’m laying in bed beside you in a hotel room in Tampa as I type this on my phone.
And you’re 30.
I remember the first time I shared a double bed with you in Iowa, and we didn’t mind how small it was then either.
And you were 17.
Here’s to getting to watch you be 17 and 30 and 50 and 105.
Happy Birthday, Jared. I love you.