p
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o
m
o
g
r
a
p
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y
writings about
walking around
,
the prom
,
and
moving forward
.
there was this one time...

i walked into the room
and asked those assembled there,
lounging about,
if they would like to go on one last adventure.
i had one last place to show them,
i said, one more haunt to be revisited.

we drove out to the hotel by the airport,
turned down the dirt road and drove back into the forest.
soon there was no more road,
just a wide clearing of trees
revealing sand-laden soil
marred by wide canyons carved by run-off.
(The last time I'd been there,
driving by moonlight,
my associate's car took an abrupt nose-dive
into one such canyon,
requiring a bribe for the towing company
in order to convince the driver
to tresspass onto federal property
to retrieve the car.)
In my little Volvo station wagon,
we made it up the hill
and, reaching the summit,
looked out upon a clearing the size of two football fields.

Later, we stopped by a construction site on the way out.
We climbed ten stories of scaffolding and ran along the boards
laid out across the tops.

We stole a large, orange construction sign as we left,
realizing that it's unlaquered wood back
made it the perfect target for our throwing knives.
It took three of us to carry it from the car towards the dorm.
As we crossed the street, we saw a cop stop at the end of our drive,
facing us.
We turned the sign to face away from the cop
and I directed the others to take the long route
around the front and then side of the cop car.
I, myself, made a bee-line for the cop.
"Good evening!", says I with a wide smile.
"Good evening", says he; "Are you with them?"
He gestures towards my friends, creeping with the sign ninja-style.
"That I am", says I.
"What have they there?", says he.
"A piece of wood we found in the forest", says I.
"Ok", he says, and I begin to walk away.
My friends have made it well past by now
and are trying not to crack up laughing.
"A piece of wood indeed!", whispers one.
Then I stop, turn around, and run back.
"Is there something going on here tonight?"
The cop smiles.  "Just a frat party", says he.
"Those crazy frat boys."  I smile and shake my head.
"Always stealing signs from streets and construction sites."
Father, 05/02/02

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