I went to college with Jon. He hated me during Full Sail. No surprise. I never question why someone hates me. I can be that kind of guy a lot. However, when I returned to Florida after my NYC failure, he decided to give me a second chance, and apparently shaking Misty’s dead weight off my shoulders made me a more likeable dude. I could still be an asshole, but the good kind, if there was such a thing. Jon and myself engaged in several drinking escapades in Downtown Orlando. Every other weekend I was there, and we had some fun, and we had some disasters. Fun times included getting attractive fruit loop liquor girls to donate their rainbow tall hat to me, others ended in Chinese food at the same place when all the bars shut down, and lest we forget the morning trips to Starbucks where Jon and I had a coffee and reran the night’s adventures. The disasters…well, the disasters were indeed disastrous: One of which being among the first few nights of my return to Florida.
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Matt M…

Matt frequently came and left from my usual group of friends. He was like a quirky guest star on a seasonal sitcom whom you always loved and anticipated their inevitable return, no matter how short-lived it may be. I suppose he could be thought of as the Uncle Leo to my Seinfeld.

I frequented his house often, and during his final year of high school we were inseparable for much of that springtime. We engaged in several juvenile antics, such as pointless scavenger hunts where we had to get ourselves kicked out of a gas station, and late night cruises about town in his hot little 1976 Buick Skylark. I’m not a car expert, but damn did I like riding around in that thing. I often caught him washing it (Top down is the only way to wash, he would say.) in his front lawn, shirtless and soapy.

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