I felt uneasy, like the world I knew at 11 was broken, and 17 transformed kisses into wounds.
A friend had brought his portable record player to our camp site, a dry creek bed. Sitting in front of that roaring fire, toasting marshmallows, we were introduced to the songs of Simon & Garfunkel.
They listened to the radio for hours sprawled out in the meadow under the shade of the Buckeye tree, well out of range of the Amish homestead. An everlasting friendship forged.
OMG! WTF? OTT! There are not enough three-letter abbreviations in the English language to describe just how deranged this song is. Once heard, never forgotten.
J. Rohr Lincoln Park, Chicago, Illinois Circa 2005 Though the place is crowded there's an absence in here. Shoulder to shoulder patrons squeeze their way around. A laptop looped into the stereo spits a predictable playlist of pop, while bar banter buzzes like oblivious static; anything could be playing so long as the groove [...]