This disappeared from the Reader when I posted it. So as to not depress the entire civilized world, I’m reblogging it.
It was easier back then, you know? In the 1970’s I had guidelines. I wasn’t supposed to talk to strangers. I had to be in when the street lights came on. I wasn’t supposed to drink the whiskey Dad kept under the sink and then water it back up. You know, I had ground rules.
The 1980’s were a time of breaking those ground rules . Pulling all-nighters, smoking cigarettes with my beautiful boy face, cranking the tunes, to sometimes uncomfortable levels, on the boombox. “Disturbing the peace” is how the police described it. I called it “Loving America more than you”. They were probably more correct in their assessment of the situation, but what were we to do. There wasn’t a shitload of places for 15-20 teenagers to hang out at the same time without being accused of disturbing something. Or stealing something. Or having sex on something.
There were the park benches. At one…
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