driving around cape cod, august 2001
olde fashioned brotherhood.
hide and seek in the toilet paper aisle of the supermarket, musak echoing on the linoleum, the smuggling of lucky charms into the cart, secret grapes popping into mouths. four brach's candies, carefully hidden in the left side pocket of a light spring jacket.

a part of life: funny faces made in the back of a hot station wagon.

building things in the basement, hiding in the basement, running circles in the basement, breaking things in the basement. a laughable conglomerate of bicycle parts. retro guitar amplifiers and a chintzy drum-set, dusty and stillborn, now soundless.

eye contact. role reversal?

borrowing a shirt for the drive to town, the visits to some person, some party, some where. tired and goofy, boots following a salty street, greasy donuts and hot drinks. leaving off. picking up, a long drive with the stereo up, the windows down, the bags packed.

an inside joke carried too far.
giving up the top bunk.

an unexpected chat, and no worry for what the fuck words come out.