I shared a bottle of 7—Up with him. We sat on an old shirt,
on the sand, on the Jersey Shore. We were on tour with Our Town. We were tired. We talked about our brothers, and our
lovers, and our friends, and the things we wanted. Someone yelled from across
the room, they said, “hey, you’re the guy from that show!” They recognized him,
but not me. I didn’t mind. I was so tired. I asked him if he would please carry
me home. He said he’d carry me half of the way. He said that when we got to the
half way point I would have to get down from his shoulders and tip the pizza
guy, he could pay for the pizza, but I had to tip, because I got fifty dollars
a week for an allowance, and I never spent any of it, so I might as well tip.
I asked if we could go to the clearing in the morning, I
needed a wide open sort of
surrounding on account of it was time to organize my bottle caps. He
said I could just as easily go by myself, he said I had to do some things on my
own.
I said I was tired.
He said “hurry up kid!” I knew he was joking.
He pounded his fists together three times, one on top of the
other, he started running, I thought it was funny that we were on a beach,
we’re never on a beach.
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