Steve Jones and I carved out the inside of a bush one time. It was our club house, for the seasons with leaves at least.
At the inaugural meeting we all brought snacks: fruities, tooties, crackers, jackers, gum drops, lollitops, and lightly salted pretzels.
Later that week, I tasted what a girl’s tongue was like. Fruity and tootie. A little slimy but not in the icky snake way.
Chris Chillcoat from Emerald Dr. eventually brought strudels and a toaster, forgetting that it needed electricity,
some faulty extension chords, and some newspaper clippings pretty much ended our club, that and taking goodies and toasters without asking was wrong and it was time for us all to grow up.
I think Steve eventually went back to Pittsburgh, and I got shipped off to private school where I heard the word ‘bitch’ in a song (damn gangsters screwed me), used it on an upperclassmen, and spent my first and only week there sprawling for my life.
I kissed my girlfriend the other day. It tasted like spinach and mucus because candy is bad for you and as long as you eat healthy it’s okay to have the occasional cigarette. It’s a good thing we grew up.
Curtis Stanford is
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