Since Shane lived down the block from me, I stopped by during the summer. Most kids thought pretty highly of him, though I still didn’t quite see it.

“What’s up, nerd?” Shane asked, holding his Dad’s 1967 Stratocaster against his chest. He turned on the Fender amp and churned out a riff from a Deep Purple song.

“Not much, dude” I said. “Cool that you’re still playing guitar I guess. I’m headed to Florida soon on vacation with the family.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”

“Can I come?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Cause your a bitch, bitch!”

“huh?”

“Cause youre’ about as much of a pansy as you can get.”

“Fuck you!”

“Yeah, well, I fucked your cat!”

“You probably did.”

“Well, that’s not what I meant!”

“Yeah, I know.”

“So!”

“So!”

“So, what!”

“So what what!”

“So what what what!

“So what what what what!”

“Stop!”

“Dude, I just wanna know.”

“No you don’t. You really don’t.”

“Well, maybe you’re right.”

“Yeah, well it doesn’t really matter anyway.”

“Whatever!”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought!”