children, gather fireside for a tale or two

I woke up this morning heavy headed, muscles stiff. I got out of bed and my hips weren’t walking correctly. I suppose this is due to the abuse I exposed myself to yesterday:

April twentieth, a Friday, a sunny one too. Thursday had been a failed attempt at a surprise party for the other half of the Clique downtown. Getting home from the center of town can be difficult at midnight on a weekday, but I hopped two busses for free, ran across a neighbourhood and finally hitched a ride at the north end of the second narrows bridge. Small world syndrome, a prime example of it; I thumbed and got picked up by a local mother. I know her kiddo’s. She was tipsy and fun, and driving an’ Audi, driving it all the way to my house. So I made it home with zero dollars from downtown in just under 50 minutes, nothing to complain about I think.

Have you ever moved big fucking rocks? Fucking big rocks man, fuck. They were so big, some of them, that I swear more now. Fucking big heavy fucking fucks. Shit. That was about five hours. Beach and weed and lunch and beers, then beers and fire at Cates. Cates parties, fires, underage, walking in the dark are all back for another season.

I was the older person at the fire. I suppose it’s up to the older peoples to make the fire, and pass the torch and creep young ones out. I remember it happening to me when I was younger. The emotion and urge these partiers displayed was massive, bigger then the flames spewed from pallets once the fire had well caught. No discretion amongst most of the males, yelling and ear piercing shrieks are commonplace. This is the beach scene. The girls, I see two divisions, no, two groups or a binary amongst them. The social ones, when drunk, and the unsocial ones, anytime; though I do suppose it has something to do with the people trying to talk to them, fuck them, get their attention, etc.

When I tired of the festivities and the incredibly witty banter the kids came up with, I wanted to call it all off, and call the police. I miss the threat of arrest, and the rush of adrenaline from running, hightailing it through the bush. Thanks to Dan for talking me out of it.