October 24, 2011
Sometimes I really do miss the simplicity of my history. The friends that wanted nothing more than just to be friends, the grass we laid upon, the cigars we smoked, and the cards we played. The whatever t-shirts, the broken-in Birkenstock sandals, the cargo shorts with a hackey-sack in the pocket. The music blaring out of whatever vehicle we could all occupy, the days and nights were ours. The lack of direction and destination, the abundance of ideas about how it was that we'd get there. Of course we all had to grow up. Well, I did.