I moved to the west coast to leave behind a childhood of destruction and menace…when I was 17, three boys from my school were gunned down after a party just a few blocks from my house one night. I even remember saying to my mother and sister (whom was in town visiting and the reason I wasn’t at the party) “gosh someone must have died ‘cause they don’t run sirens in residential areas. “ It came out over ten years later that the murders were over about $500 worth of cocaine. I rode horses with the girl that finally admitted what happened. My neighbor and a kid that I stood at the bus stop with for my whole school career murdered two elderly people and threw their bodies in a ditch. My friend’s older brother placed explosives in one of the campus police trucks and blew that up. Most everyone that I grew up with has gone to jail, prison, or rehab and a few to the grave, much too early I must say. But for some reason today I’m not feeling like I’ve done much better…All alone, no family in the area, I’ve done too much and seen too much to hang out with the regular kids, I’m jaded I guess. I can’t go back to that life style I worked so hard to get away from. I know there is a point to the struggle, but I am having a hard time finding it today.
I'll be back with funny tomorrow.
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