November 27, 2011
He packed the bowl behind the Butera with half of his first paycheck.

“I wish you could just flip off the sun, like a light switch in a room. This damn sun is killing me, I swear,” Cain stood there and squinted at the gravel waiting for that first inhale.

He lit it so fast the sparks hit his finger, and he smiled. He loved it when that s*** happened. He took a deep breath in and handed it over before the flame went out. It needed a sprinkle of this, a dash of that, everything and nothing. And they walked.

Its pretty funny, even when he thinks back to those memories, hot those friends crouched next to him had blurred out faces, like in a camera that’s not clear enough to work right. When he tells himself the real truth, he can’t seem to remember any of their names, not even one. It’s one thing to mix up the Joe’s with the Sean’s with the Ryan’s and Matt’s, but there weren’t even any names in his head to get jumbled up. There were only blurred faces.

When he remembers his teenage life, he thinks of that day when the sun was killing him. It was a great day maybe, it was a fun day kind of, it was a happy day whatever that means. Most of all, it was every day.

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