“It’s a holy day.”
“No it isn’t. It’s a regular day.”
“Why are they marching us off to church then?”
“So they can film us. They’re perverse.”
One of the reasons I’d chosen Gerry Richards as my friend was because he used words such as perverse. He also read books for fun and listened to Frank Zappa. Gerry was an evil genius. A few years later he would be killed in a war. No one was sure which war. We just heard he was dead.
Brown pants, yellow shirts, plaid ties no tropically fevered Scotsman could’ve conceived of.
“Check out Dalfino,” Jeff LaFlamme shouted. I watched a lot of sitcoms and knew Jeff was going to grow up to be a maitre’d.