Episode One (1): Razor Blade Refill Thingies
I was in my 13th year of school, so it must have been 1997-1998. It was fall – early in the school year. I remember that.
I was just on my way home to eat. As I passed the pharmacy downtown, I ran into a dude I knew named “Norman”. I knew him as part of the older crew that hung out at the park downtown. He was probably 21 (twenty-one) or 22 (twenty-two) but looked older. He still had a virgin mustache, and I admired that.
As he speedwalked towards me as if he was about to snatch my purse, he whispered “Follow me.”
So, sensing some mischief and hoping to maybe smoke a little weed, I just started following him.
For about 20 (twenty) minutes, I trail him from about 30 (thirty) feet behind and losing. This fucking guy is speedwalking all the way to his house and I’m blindly following him like a fucking drug-crazed, useless teenager. “Too late to turn back now.” I sez to myself. Besides, the way back is uphill.
Finally we get to his house.
We go in the garage where he starts untucking his t-shirt that he’s wearing under his hoodie and out fall a dozen or so packs of Gillette-brand replacement razor refill things.
He tells me his plan. I tells him I think it’s stupid. He argues that I’m not understanding his plan. He repeats it to me. I still think it’s stupid. He says we’re gonna smoke some weed. I’m in.
Skip to about 15 (fifteen) minutes later and were in this fucking jungly bike trail and he’s on this nice, tricked out stolen mountain bike. I’m on a mountain bike too, except mine doesn’t have brakes and is designed for and marketed to 8 (eight) y/o girls.
Eventually, we emerge from the wilderness, soaking wet, my legs are all raw and ripped up like shredded wheat from the tiny branches with the even tinier barbs (shorts!) – and into someone’s backyard. All we have to do is ride these bitches about 30 (thirty) feet on this guys lawn and we’ll have reached our destination: Burger Street*.
End Of Episode One (1)
*I changed the name of this street for a few reasons. One of which is the fact that this particular street has come a long way since the days in which this story takes place. Also, I don’t want to get beat up.