Throughout 7th grade my buddy Will and I would cut class to ride our bikes out to this bridge that became our hangout spot. We’d sit on the railing, smoke cigarettes, eat Airheads, and make wishes by spitting into the canal. We could do this for hours and always wish for the same thing: to one day get a blow job. We did this for years …

I didn’t get head until 10th grade but at that moment I knew things were going to change for me.

The gas station by my old house was plastered with pictures of townies and their trophy kills - mainly alligators they’d hunt from the canals that ran alongside our homes.

God bless the girl who’d use my disposable camera to take photos of girls I liked in the locker room. I almost miss those awkward days of jittering in line at Walgreens photo developing center.

Christmas morning in West Palm Beach Florida and a mediocre ass tattoo of a cartoon baker serving a heart.

 
< Prev | Next >