Swipe a couple packs of cigs off the counter display. Finish a skate session with some roof tag and then hit a liquor store for some cold ones. Everyday summer shit.
Made a pact with the driver while both on —- to flee to San Francisco should our parents find out about getting caught in the tower of the park, that overlooked the town where we grew up.
Hid under the bed, praying that her pops wouldn’t find me when he came in for morning prayers.
Je suis désolée, car j’ai péché.