December 11, 2012
August hours seemed like decades. Talk between boys almost about nothing at all. Hanging out at a record store. Leafing through the 45s. Stealing glances at some older girls looking at LPs.
“They ain’t that great,” Ed said.
“Who?” I responded knowing exactly who he was referring to. The girls. Probably two or three years older. The next aisle. Decades away.
Ed started to chuckle. Smoke drifting up and choking his eyes. I laughed.
The girls looked at each other and sighed, their eyes rising to the ceiling. Their mock superiority was a salute to us. We existed.