I’m beginning to reconsider my original assessment of how hot Sara actually is. Maybe I was a bit hasty in my initial appraisal. I do that sometimes; judge women a little too harshly. She bends over the coffee table and sets down a bowl of tortilla chips. I catch a sidelong look down her shirt and decide that there just might be more life in those boobs than meets the eye. Boobs can be tricky that way.
Continue reading “San Francisco Sojourn”
It’s “Think!” for short, or “Think for Yourself!” if you want to say the whole thing, the whole slogan. It’s kind of our city’s motto. Well the motto for us hardcore kids anyway. I wrote it all over my Chuck Taylors and you see it spray painted all over Boston. It started with the skinheads I think, maybe down in DC, but fuck, who cares who started it? I figure it’s just as applicable to me and my skate crew as any shithead skin. Continue reading “Think for Yourself!”
I wake up earlier than I’d like to because I have to pee. The bright sunlight streaming in from the skylight above the bed doesn’t help either. Jiva, the dumb bitch forgot to roll down the shade before we passed out last night. I roll onto my back and collect my wits, but I have a hard time because it’s immediately apparent that I’m dirty. I wish I could erase the entire summer from my memory and start fresh. I smell like Jiva and it makes me want to be sick. Continue reading “The End of the Beginning (he hopes)”
If only he could see himself through her eyes, then Kevin might understand just how petty and immature he comes off, so far from the tough guy persona he imagines for himself. He’d see how to her, he’s a prepubescent boy, his chubby cheeked face twisted into a pouty rage, howling about how emasculated he’ll feel without her on his arm at that miserable dinner.
Continue reading “Wait a second… This is an orgy, isn’t it?”