Even though it took forever, Wednesday had finally arrived, the night of the Thanksgiving school Dance was looming large and I couldn’t wait. I still had to go to my classes for the day but I won’t bore you with those kinds of details. I’m sure you don’t really care to hear about my algebra class or about how I had learned in home economics class to sew hot pads that were supposed to be oven mitts but I made them wrong so they became hot pads. Here is a helpful hint; don’t sew all four sides!
However, I will tell you about how I literally ran into Diana Woodgrow for the third time, during passing period, on the day of the Thanksgiving school dance. And when I say literally, I mean, literally, she ran into me in the hallway with a bang right into me. I think she did it on purpose too. I think she timed it by waiting until I had been looking down at my books to reorganize them or she had waited for me to look at the hallway clock and then BOOM it would happen right out of nowhere – I never saw it coming.
I’ve never bumped into anyone else at school in that way, just Diana. It must have been her modus operandi I figured. I really wasn’t sure if she did that to everybody or just me. It was all cool though, I actually found it rather cute. Every time she did it –she had knocked into me with her knockers, she gave me a big warm smile and said, “HI Phil” as she opened her arms really wide and gave me this – I want a hug look.
Diana had huge distractions and when she gave me a hug she always made sure to press them up against me. Maybe she couldn’t help but to have them press up against me because they were so … distracting and all. But either way, she practically suffocated me with those suckers. In addition, Diana did this Pelvic bone to pelvic bone really long hug; she held on very tight and extra long. I’ll tell you this: she really knew how to give a hug. Who would have thought that a hug could have been so X rated. But Diana’s sure were. And I barely even knew her, other than from the hallways at school.
This last time though, on Wednesday, after the collision, she stopped her embrace, and smiled seductively and said, “See ya Philly Swifty … good luck against Devon at the dance tonight.”
I said “thanks” and everything but the thing was, her big long hug had made me sort of “sport one” BIG TIME - because of her X rated hug. I swear she could tell too, because she looked down at my nether region and smiled seductively. Well, I wasn’t sure if she was looking there or not, to be quite honest with you. But I know this. The rest of my walk to science class I had to hold my books over my pelvic area; because you know – She really knew how to give a good hug.
I had finally made it to my science class without anybody noticing. Thank god, I think it finally had calmed down too. However, it wasn’t helping that Julie was wearing a skimpy blue jean mini skirt that day, which was slightly re-aggravating the situation. I never had these sorts of problems until I got a cool haircut and became a breaker. But it was a good problem to have – you know, girls running into me and such.
The bell rang, I strolled to my chair, and sat down sort of hunched over to hide the woody that Dirty Diana Woodgrow had started – and I tried not to look too much at Julie, who sat next to me, and was wearing a short skirt with flirty bobby sox. I wasn’t trying to re-aggravate the situation to be honest with you. All I wanted to do was stop sitting so hunched over.
When our science teacher, Mr. Goenaddes walked into the classroom, my problem was solved, it just fizzled out. Now that I wasn’t hunched over hiding the phallus, I noticed the teacher had the windows open. It was one of those warm fall days that Blazin' loved to call, “Indian summer.”
Class was just about to start but I still couldn’t straighten out my seating posture just yet because of MS Bobby sox but when we were asked by the teacher, “Please put your belongings under your chair and take out something with which and on which to write for your test today.” I finally was able to sit straight. His stuffy voice could kill any mood.
Mr. Goenaddes had been rumored to throw a desk from across the science lab room because one of his students had mouthed off to him. He was a big guy; a rather serious, austere, and dry looking man that looked like he could have been a judge or something. He had a tightly groomed beard and mustache, which reeked of fastidiousness. And for whatever reason, his particular style of beard and wrinkled forehead made me believe the rumor.
Anyhow, I used to be a big time class clown in grade school, although I swear this time, it was unintentional but midway through the science test I sort of disturbed the class. A couple of students were done early with their test and as they were dropping their paper off with the teacher, I overheard the mumblings of Mr. Goenadds “- Yes … you can smell the geraniums …”
I then capriciously interjected from across the room and said, “Ohh, no kidding – I thought it was my breath?” which made the whole class crack up. Truthfully I wasn’t even trying to be a wiseacre. I kept having this weird taste in my mouth; as if I had dry morning breath and had just got done taking gross ass medicine. But I hadn’t. I had been trying to figure out what the gross taste was for the last five minutes. The odor was so strong that I could taste it in my mouth. So when he said, “it’s the geraniums” it was an instant epiphany.
Instantly Mr. Goenadds sternly yelled, “Phil - go stand in the hall!”
My sudden realization had earned me a trip to the hall.
“But I …“ I tried to say.
But before I could get a word in edgewise the teacher interrupted me and said, “Phil – hallway.”
In disbelief, I started to head to the hall. But not before I exclaimed, “Yo man this is schlernious … straight up schlernious!”
Mr Goenadds didn’t even know what to say at first, so he just stood there with a tensely crinkled forehead and blank stare. He was probably wondering what the heck schlernious meant. – Not that I could tell him.
Moments later, he replied, “What’s this schlernious business? … You walk around my class with this certain swagger … who do you think you are?”
“Many people have asked me that very question Mr. G. - They ask me … Phil, what’s this swagger and bop to your hop? … and you know what I tell them?” I asked Mr. G (and the whole class for that matter, whom were now listening in) “I tell them: Yo I’m from Chicago, Tall Chicago, and I am a Neighborhood Street Rocker; a bad to the bone breaker, and even though you call it SWAGGER, I call it my nature.” This drew snickers from my classmates and definitely didn’t make Mr. G happy.
“You can walk your way into the hallway young man,” he said with intensity like I had never heard him use before.
I wasn’t even trying to be a smart ass or anything. I was just telling him the dilly o. I mean, he did ask about my swag, so I told him. But either way, he didn’t like it. So he grabbed my arm and ushered me into the hallway with a firm gorilla grip on my shoulder that confirmed in my mind that he had most definitely thrown that desk across the lab room, just like the rumor had it. Sometimes the grapevine was accurate.
While I was standing in the hallway I thought about how I hadn’t been kicked out of class since the 6th grade. (The dissecting a frog; whack him incident doesn’t count because the bell was about to ring anyway.) But in grade school I got kicked out of music class by Mr. Gaylord because I had farted in class. Yes farted; really loud too. The thing about that is and I’m still P O-ed to this day-How the heck did Mr. Gaylord even know it was I that farted. I was sitting way in the back. My classmate Jim Zeke was the one laughing his ass off after the fact, in fact he was the one telling jokes. Telling jokes so crazy, that I laughed so hard, I farted.
If Jim Zeke hadn’t been telling jokes that day I probably wouldn’t have slipped it out so forcefully. I would have done it more surreptitiously and probably had made it a silent but deadly affair. Well, that happened about three years ago or so and that was what I thought about while I stood in the hallway when people walked by and stared at me. I thought about how at least I didn’t have to tell them I got kicked out of class for farting. I was kicked out of class because “I thought it was my breath.”
Have you ever smelled something so strong before that you could taste it? I wasn’t even trying to be funny or disruptive. The longer I stood in the hall; I started thinking about how my science teacher really blew an excellent opportunity to teach us about science. For instance the teacher could have told the class: Hey that’s interesting Phil, so you mean you are in-taking the scent of geraniums via the olfactory sense, yet you are genuinely tasting the geraniums with your taste buds. I was then picturing him running to one of his bookshelves and grabbing a science book and saying something like: what you are experiencing Phil is the phenomenon known as olfactory taste osmosis. Then he could have cited something from Pavlov and his salivating dogs and such. But no! Nothing like that happened. I was exiled to the hall just like the old days.
When the bell rang, the students rushed out and after every last one of them was gone, the teacher poked his ascetic melon out of the classroom and told me that I could finish taking my test after school if I would like. Before I could even retort Mr. Goenadds retracted his strict ass melon from around the doorway and then I heard the door close. It reminded me of an expression my grandma used to always use, “Children should be seen and not heard.”
At the end of the school day I walked back into Mr. Goenadds class and I finished my test. When I was done, the next thought on my brain was: it’s Wednesday and school is over; Devon is going to get served! I handed Mr. G. the test and darted out of the door. Neither one of us said anything to each other - no bye, no see ya, or have a nice Thanksgiving, utter silence, save for my footsteps as I walked down the hall.
Just before the stair case, I looked at the clock in haste as I picked up my pace, hoping that my footsteps were out of Mr. G’s range. I realized that I still had a minute to catch my bus if I ran. But of course Mr. Curmudgeon scolded from his desk, “No running in the halls.” He probably didn’t know it was I for sure, but he heard someone’s feet at near gallop and of course he had to bark.
Once I hit the stairwell, I made double time, Mr. G. didn’t stop me, I still made it to the bus. “I am still Chicago, all Chicago … Tall Chicago.” I said to the bus driver as I got in, but he just looked at me as if I was nuts, gave me a smirk, and told me to take my seat. The second I sat down Cedric the bus driver took off. Anyway, that was how my school day went, the day of my Thanksgiving school dance. And I told you about it because I really felt like blabbing about it to someone and I knew you’d be listening.
I was nearly out of breath from the dart to the bus, so I took my seat and sat next to Witty Dee who was calling somebody names in the taunting way he always did. He was calling this big dude a, “Girly boy and girly man” or some shiznit like that. Witty Dee really did have some big balls. I mean, he would pick on someone way bigger than he was. Witty liked to taunt people, just for the sake of taunting. He didn’t even need a motive. I actually liked when he was taunting somebody because that usually meant that I was safe from his taunting of me, at least in that moment in time. And if I jumped in to stop him from taunting someone else, like I had done before – then I’d become his object of taunt. So I had learned to keep my trap shut around Witty Dee, when he was in one of his taunting moods, which was almost always. I’m not saying its right; it’s just the way that it was.
I hadn’t seen much of Witty Dee lately, other than on the afternoon bus. I had been off doing my breakin’ thing all of the time and Witty Dee had been hangin’ tough with Muffy. I asked Witty Dee if he was going to the Thanksgiving Dance but he said, “Maybe” and usually when people say “maybe” they really mean “no.” Besides he started talking about some movie that Muffy wanted to go see. And I know Witty doesn’t like to dance, so the last thing he was going to do was tell her about our school dance. (She went to a different school) Witty Dee randomly asked, “Are you ready for that break dance battle tonight with Devon?”
“Foe show my man, I am going to rock that joint,” I said in a confident nod. He wished me luck and all that kind of schlernious shiznit and then we just shot the shee-ott the rest of the bus ride home. I told him about how I almost missed the bus because of Mr Goenadds and Witty told me that he had Mr. Goenadds for second period and he is on his bad side too, “BIG TIME” he even said. He told me that he was always standing in the hallway outside of his class for no good reason. He once got kicked out of class for smiling.
“Smiling?” I asked.
“Yep, the prick kicked me out of class for smiling …. I mean, I smiled when he accidentally bumped his knee on the lab table, but WHAT EVER?” Witty said.
I told Witty that I got kicked out of class for “thinking I had geranium breath,” which was kind of true, if you think about it.
Then Witty told me that In Mr. G.’s class, he sits next to this kid named Chris Smith who was always letting out loud, squeaky, juicy farts, “I’ve never heard someone fart so long and so loud before in my life; you would think he had a microphone and speakers attached to his ass. I’m not kidding ya man,” Witty said as he waved his hand in front of his nose as if the story had stirred up some olfactory memories. Then Witty added, “Chris just doesn’t give an EFF, I think he eats beans and broccoli right before class just for the Eff of it.” He said with a scrunched face. The kind of scrunched face people make after they had just whiffed a big noisome fart.
Witty started cackling even louder and told me,” Dude, check this out, last week, we made a pact and we both ate beans, sauerkraut, and broccoli in our omlettes for breakfast just so we could fart our asses off and then blame poor Sabinta who sits in between us, it was hilarious,” he said.
Witty went on to tell me that Chris and he farted like mad all over the classroom on that bean, sauerkraut and broccoli day and then passed off the blame of this gas attack on the unsuspecting quiet, shy and reticent girl named, “Sabinta.” Witty said that Chris and he always shouted out loud for everyone in the class to hear, “Ohh Sabinta how could you,” and “Ahhh Sabinta your farts smell.” I could tell that Witty really enjoyed his misplaced blame fart game.
“You’re a FART BULLY,” I said randomly with a smile.
Witty laughed and said, “I know.” Then he said that Sabinta just cowers and doesn’t even try to stand up for herself. That’s Witty Dee for you; he loves to taunt! I think he even gets a kick out of making people cower.
He finished his story with a half assed attempt at remorse by saying, “Poor Sabinta – too shy and too nervous to say anything.” His big choppers, crinkled nose, and devil may care in his eyes told me, he wasn’t too remorseful though. I read pure joy in his fart bullying peepers, if you really must know.
We had made it to my bus stop and just in time too, all of that chicanery had put a devilish twinkle in Witty Dee’s eyes. If I had stayed on that bus any longer, he would have certainly aimed his taunts at me. As I was exiting my seat to walk off the bus Witty Dee yelled, “Good luck tonight Phil.”
“I don’t need any luck Witty – Its all skill me boy, it’s all skill! I am the master of the art of luck. The more I practice, the luckier I get,” I said cocksure. Then I swaggered off the bus and into my crib.
I was anxious for Wednesday night but the following Saturday was going to be the first time that all of us NSR’s were going to get together at McCollum Park. So I started making some phone calls before I went to the dance that night just to shore things up for the weekend.
First I called Miguel 2 Tuff. He told me, “I’ll be there without a care Swifty … does that sound nifty?”
“Right on Miguel, it’s all well, I’ll see you on Saturday,” I said.
“My bro is coming too,” 2 Tuff told me.
Then I asked him how he was going to get up to the park since I knew he lived too far away to walk and I knew he didn’t drive yet. He told me that his Mom was going to be dropping him off.
“Is your sister coming? The one who picked you up last month at Suburbanite? …Your sister is totally Hot,” I said out of reflex.
Miguel laughed and said, “I don’t have a sister …. You think MY MOM IS HOT?” he yelled loudly, “Hey Gio, Phil thinks Mom is hot!”
I urged Miguel, “Well don’t keep yelling it or anything; I don’t want your mom to hear that. I’m going to feel like a goof around her if she hears it.”
Miguel informed me, “My mom is standing right next to me, she just smiled and said, naughty boys … boys will be boys,” which made my face feel warm the rest of the time I talked to him on the phone.
I first saw Miguel and Gio’s mom at the roller skating rink that first night I had met them. She walked into the rink and I remembered asking Miguel if that was his sister. Miguel did his usual closed mouth smile and didn’t even answer my question - not a word, so I wasn’t sure, until that phone call I had just told you about.
I got off the phone with Miguel 2 Tuff before I said anything else crazy but he told me that he couldn’t wait to get together with us guys again. He was referring to Blazin' and I. He was totally cool and excited about meeting some new cats and making one big crew. We said our au revoirs and that was that.
Next on my list was Blazin'. I wanted to see if he was coming to the school dance tonight even though I knew he wouldn’t be but I figured I’d remind him about Saturday anyway. I didn’t want him to pull a “Dorktown Mall on me” and blow me off.
He was going to turnabout at a catholic school across town with this “skeezer” he met a while ago. Randomly I would hear Blazin refer to her as his “girlfriend.” I guess you could call her his girlfriend but they hardly ever saw each other so I’m not really sure what to call her. Heck Blazin' didn’t even know what to call her? He kept referring to her as this, “Skeezer that is all over my jock,” only they hadn’t even kissed yet. But you know how we guys talk.
“So I’ll see you at McCollum Saturday at noon right?”
Blazin' said, “Heck yeah my brother, I can’t wait for the jam session in the cypher!”
Then Blazin' informed me he had already talked to Kid Mojo, Slim Jim, and Jet Drinkwater and said they would be there on Saturday. Shortly thereafter, Blazin' hurriedly said he had to go; you’d have thought his pants just caught on fire by the way he rushed me off the phone.
I rang up our one and only B-Girl, Chi Girl and asked her if she was in?
She was all excited about meeting us at McCollum Park on Saturday and said she would be there, right after her gymnastics meet. But then I sort of got confused for a minute when she asked me,” What should I wear?” For a split second I was thinking … what? Then I realized this was a girl; Girls are always asking questions about what they should wear?
I just told her, “Dress like a B-Boy … I mean, dress like a B-Girl … be there or be square! I’ll be there like sab wah faire, it’s all Chicago baby … Its all Chicago,” I said as I hung up the phone. I was pretty sure I didn’t answer her question or anything but I tried.
Lastly I called Boogie Bob. I’ve talked to him on the phone numerous times since that day I had met him at Dorktown mall. He already told me that he would be there if he could, but with his chemotherapy schedule and being in the hospital and all, he wasn’t exactly sure if he would make it or not. Turns out, the day I had met Boogie Bob at Dorktown mall he actually wasn’t even supposed to be there. He told me the whole story about how his Leukemia had went into remission but then a few months later he found out that his Leukemia had came back; he had a relapse.
The day he was at mall, he was actually scheduled to begin another round of chemotherapy -that morning even, but he left his house early without his parents knowing. He snuck up to the mall to have some fun before he became a “prisoner at the hospital again.” He told me that he wanted to “do some normal kid things, like carouse the malls for girls and breakers and stuff,” which I’m sure was the reason that we had been getting along famously ever since. B-boys of a feather flock together.
That’s what the mall was: girls and breakers, and … oh yeah … stores.
I guess he had his parents worried sick, they called the cops and everything. So when he got back home from the mall that day he immediately went to the hospital and began his 2nd induction of chemotherapy. And he’s been there ever since. I’ve called him nearly every day.
Boogie Bob answered the phone; I had the direct line to his room, “Cancer sucks hotline how may we not help you?”
“Boogie Bob, it’s your fellow Neighborhood Street Rocker, Sup my man?”
Bob sounded happy to hear from me, “Hey Swift, what’s going on kid?”
“We are having the big NSR get together at the park on Saturday that I’ve been telling you about; I hope you can make it.”
Bob replied with a carapace cheerfulness undoubtedly masking his sullenness, “I’ve got to get some more of this chemo shee-ott bee-otch, so it doesn’t look good kid – but I’m seriously thinking about skipping out on this chemo crap and meeting up with you guys anyway,” he said while thinking out loud.
That kind of got me nervous because I knew he had already delayed his treatment in the first place, so I told Boogie Bob, “Why don’t you finish up that chemo shiznit and then meet up with us on some other day when the chemo is done?” I paused and Bob said nothing so I continued, “Don’t they have any chemo to go crap like asthma patients use an inhaler or something?” I asked.
Bob replied, “I wish they did, believe me kid. I already asked the doc that same question but it’s all messed up – I’ve gotta stay here kid. But you’re right, when it’s done – we will all meet up and get on down with some crazy ass, goin’ izz-off berserk breakin’.
I can’t go skipping out on this chemo thing again. Momz was pretty mad at me that day I went to the mall and ended up being late for our appointment. In fact, I think it was the first time that I had seen her mad at me in months; she hadn’t been mad at me ever since I got cancer. It was kind of nice. You know, my mom getting mad at me. I know it sounds crazy but in a weird way it was actually really nice having my mom get mad at me. It made me feel normal again … for a few minutes at least,“ Bob said reminiscently. I could tell his wheels were turning when he added, “I don’t know what to do?”
I told Bob, “Look, I don’t want you to miss your chemo treatment. How about this bro – I’ll stop by the hospital first thing in the morning before I go up to McCollum Park and we’ll hang out! Is there anywhere for us to break in that joint?”
Bobs voice picked up ten notches of pump and he replied, “Yeah man, I’ll find us a place to break.”
I rambled on for a minute or two and when I quit talking there were a few seconds of silence, it felt like minutes. Even though I couldn’t see his face and I didn’t know what he was thinking I could tell something heavy was on his mind. Sometimes silence weighs a ton and is louder than bombs.
Bob started talking again with his contrived happy shell, I could hear it through the phone, “You don’t have to come meet me at the hospital. This place is very depressing; it’s a sad place. Every once in a while there will be a friend that I’ve met, hung out with, had popsicles with, laughed with … by the way these friends are also cancer patients … but anyway out of nowhere, these friends of mine will disappear without saying goodbye, you just don’t see them again, suddenly their bed is empty.
What makes it the worst is that all of the nurses will have wet eyes and sniffly noses and stuff …” then Bob changed his tone to prosaic. “But oddly enough none of the doctors ever seem to get the wet eye thing, they are just expressionless, stoic, matter of fact people with white coats and stone faces who write scripts for medicine … But yay, the nurses, they are a whole different story. They sniffle all over this freakin’ empty bed place. I don’t know if you want to hang out with a bunch of cry babies who can’t say what they mean?
Like this one time, I asked Nurse Mary, Hey where’s Jimmy? Who was a buddy of mine here in the cancer unit last time around, just before I went into remission, but she didn’t answer my question right away, she just got all sniffly and said, He’s in a better place.
Then another time I asked, hey where’s Sandy? And Mary answered me vaguely, she’s having dinner with Jesus right now or she’s playing the piano with the angels. She could never just come out and say it. Eventually, when she had to, she’d say something like: Oh Jimmy or Oh Sandy … their beds are empty now. And that’s the closest she would come to saying it. When she left the room, she’d start balling with rainstorms coming out of her orbits. Orbits – that’s a doctor’s word, I learned that here kid … you told me that you liked words, so that’s one for ya kid, ORBITS.
Anywho, what the Eff man, I mean – Futt the Whuck? It’s just an empty bed. Lord knows someone will fill that damn thing up again … So if you’re sure you want to come here to the cancer unit and deal with people that get wet orbits over empty beds for no reason, then come on through. But if that sort of thing bothers you, I understand. Heck I don’t even want to be here kid,” Bob said matter of factly.
I cut Bob off from his rant and said, ”That’s all cool Boogie Bob – Saturday is the day where all of us Neighborhood Street Rockers get together and practice for a bit. And you are a Neighborhood Street Rocker, so of course I will come on through and practice with you,” I said.
Boogie Bob said, “That’ll work kid. Umm,huh, ohh, yay that Chi girl chick you were telling me about last time we talked – is she going up to the park too? Is she cute?” he asked.
“She’s confirmed and yep she’s pretty cute, but I’m trying not to think about her too much, I don’t want to mix business with pleasure,” I said prosaically. Then somehow the mood struck me to say, “And listen dude, you’re not dying, you’re not one of those cancer patients, you’re a breaker, you’re a B-Boy and you just happen to be getting treated for cancer. But it does not define you. Breakin’ defines you! “
Obviously I couldn’t see him through the phone but I knew that Bob was now smiling his bald brow-less head off; I could hear it in his voice. I don’t know why I even used the “D” word or anything but something compelled me to say it.
“Alright Swift kid, I’ve got to go, but hey, I think they are switching rooms on me tonight or tomorrow, so when you come here; you might have to ask for Robert Charles room – they don’t have me listed under Boogie Bob, Okay kid,” he said.
“Gotchya brudda … I’ll see you in the A.M. on Saturday, meanwhile I’ve gotta get ready for this battle against Devon tonight,” I said.
“You’ll school ‘em kid,” Bob said.
I hung up the phone with Boogie Bob and I could tell that he was happy that he was unable to talk me out of coming to see him. I never really thought about the fact that some of the people that Bob was hanging out with on a regular basis at the hospital ended up just leaving without saying goodbye. That’s the thing about meeting people, you’d like to be able to say goodbye to them when they leave – that’s all, that’s the only thing.
Suddenly I had this weird feeling floating around in my head. I was totally looking forward to the school dance that was just a couple of hours away but I was also a little sad to hear the way Bob was talking about the hospital and such. This was some grown up shit to have to think about and I was just a teen; usually only hundred year olds have to think about this kind of a thing, not teenagers.
On a brighter note, my “NSR” belt buckle nameplate had arrived in the mail that day in a big ass manila envelope but I didn’t see it till later. Do you remember what I’m talking about? Rockefeller at the Lincoln center was sportin’ one that day I had first met him. His read, “GTR” and of course mine read, “NSR” for Neighborhood Street Rockers. “Now I am going to look All Chicago when I hit that dance tonight,” I said aloud to my P.s as I donned it around my neck for the first time, which made them shake their heads about my crazy ass slang.
I was kind of soliloquizing to no one and sort of talking to my P.s when I said, “Rockin’ this NSR nameplate ‘round my neck tonight is going to get everybody talkin’ for shizzo; talkin’ bout this cat right here, Phil K., The Funky Groove King, Swift and his bling thing, know what I mean? I can already hear everybody at the dance saying,” and then I used this girly voice, “That NSR plate you’re sportin’ round yo neck is ALL Chicago …” You should have seen the look my P.s gave me, then I continued, “I can hear it now … I love your new necklace Swifty.”
My P.s looked at me cockeyed while shaking their heads at my display of braggadocio and pretend compliments. “Nobody will be saying anything to you unless you get those dishes done son,” Mom said plainly.
After doing the dishes, I grabbed my winter hats and got ready to head to the school dance. It was about that time; time to rock, time to jack, time to break, and time to face off with that cat Devon.
Since Blazin’ was going to turnabout with his semi-girlfriend and Witold Dee was going to a movie with Muffy. It looked like I was flying solo that night. I yelled down to the old man about my ride to the dance while I fixed my hair, “I’m about ready to rock, when we doing this Pops?” I asked.
He yelled back facetiously, “I’m waiting for you,” even though a few minutes ago I was waiting for him, which was the only r