Things like this: Jim, I’ve been trying to locate those Polaroids, and more memories came back: Remember our “back porch”? The little wooden landing with wooden railings at the door to that long, skinny storage area behind our back wall? The storage area that hardly anyone ever used? It was a good spot to sit on hot summer nights, smoking and pondering life, or drinking wine or malt liquor and pondering life. It was better than the groves in that one could reappear immediately in case FoneBone or Chin-Ho suddenly came around the corner from the Jack Rabbit. I remember many nights, sitting on the floor, my arms on the middle bar of the railing, blowing blue smoke into the calm night air, and thinking. It wasn’t a good make-out spot, because it was exposed to the Jack Rabbit cars for a moment as they went up the hill for the double-dip, and despite the giant multi-flora rose bush, it was slightly open to the back parking lot. It was a great spot to listen to girls. It was where I learned that it didn’t matter if you were a nerd or a hero, or what you looked like, if you could actively listen to girls, even if you didn’t say a word, they would consider you a brilliant conversationalist, and would always come back. That was a lesson that I never forgot, and helped a lot since I’ve always lived in houses full of females. If you could actively listen, no girl or woman was “out of your league”. Funny thing, estrogen.
Posted on: Sun, 28 Dec 2014 03:24:27 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015