One summer I was sittin’
on a boat on Berry Lake with a whole slew a people from my school. We were all
chattin’ about stuff that didn’t matter and tannin’ or sunburnin’ as we laid on
the prickly pontoon carpet floor. Some people were gulpin’ cheap beer that
someone finagled from their dad’s garage fridge. I didn’t like the taste of it.
It was so cold that it hurt my mouth; and it tasted sharply acidic and metallic
as the rebellious bubbles riveted across my tongue. I remember shieldin’ my
eyes from the sun as David Sabrowski asked if I wanted to hear a joke. David
was a nice enough kid. Played on the football team, but nothin’ to be bragged
about. His young, patchy beard moved around with his face muscles as he
stretched his mouth to talk an’ tell me the joke. I don’t remember too much
about what the joke was; but I remember laughin’ so loud that I’m sure people
way on the pier could hear me.
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