John my man, I am so sorry, but I simply cannot remember your last name. That probably has to do with the fact that we only knew each other for that one summer when we worked together at scout camp and were assigned to bunk in the same tent. What I do remember is that you and I became friends instantaneously. No sooner had we introduced ourselves than we were already talking away like people who know and understand each other quite well. Our senses of humor were freakishly similar, right down to the brilliant timing and the weaving in and out of sarcasm, all of which we rounded out with a constant undercurrent of homoerotic teasing. It was often enough to leave the unschooled scratching their heads. We simply exhaled our cigarettes and shrugged.
You started seeing a girl who worked at the neighboring camp, which meant that I pretty much had the tent to myself in the evenings. I was sad for you when she broke your heart at the end of the summer, particularly since I and everybody else saw it coming. Such is the way with them camp staff hookups.
You and I once received a summons to appear together in the camp director's office posthaste. We were in trouble, but weren't told what for. It was a long hot walk across that big dirt parking lot, and we joked nervously the whole way so as to help keep our cool. When we got there, he chewed us out for being so brazen about ganking orange juice out of the commissary, a minor crime that we had committed that very morning. As we walked back to our campsite, we both heaved sighs of relief and confessed to the following:
ME: I thought that was about the fridge full of beer I have hidden in our tent.
YOU: I thought that was about the baggie full of pot I have hidden in our tent.
Talk about a couple of relieved young men.
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