Tuesday, 17 October 2017

Picket Fence Grass



My buddy Sean’s nineteenth birthday party, in the guest bedroom, leaning out of the window next to, Heather? Sarah? Whatever, she was hot, and I was all trying to be cool, so of course I said I partook, and of course I did partake.

Usually those stories end with throwing up over her, or some other sort of freak out or bad reaction. Instead we both mellowed out, laughed about crap and ended up getting caught by Sean’s parents in the guest bed, doing, well, what you’d expect.

That’s why your mother and I skipped town and changed our names.

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