I first met August Two Moons in 1993 in an arroyo seco in Denazin. August was crouched, looking for geodes and finding only coprolytes. We both paused in the paltry shade of a piñon. “Always be ready to meet your new best friend,” he said. I was put off by that.

In the twenty years since that meeting, our paths have crossed many times. A2M (as he signs his email) spends every moment he can outside. In the desert, on the mountain top, everywhere, we’ve shared water, gorp, poetry and stories. More than one of his stories has involved poor Etaoin Shrdlu, the unluckiest man either of us has ever met. Or, as Tink describes him, “this hero so suffused with tragic flaws.” Etaoin Shrdlu (aka Tao) inherited his name, and his misfortune, from his grandfather, who was killed by someone he smiled at.

A2M has more nicknames than anyone else I know. “Gus,” of course, but also “Auk.” They include many obvious variations on “Moon” and the more obscure “Teller” — my favorite. Indeed, it seems that each person who knows him has a variant; that’s how personal his relationships are.

August speaks 47 languages, at least the essential pleasantries and obscenities (which are one and the same in most languages). I’ve only seen him at a loss for words once, after Etaoin Shrdlu fell off a cliff. When we finally found Tao in a heap, he glowered at August and spat out something in Hungarian (along with blood and teeth). August was speechless. Much later, over whiskey and cigars, Teller told Tink that Tao said he felt like punching Jesus.