We sat on overturned milk crates in the old drama class. I was wearing that shirt you loved, the one with the elephant and cheetah on it. For the third day in a row you had that tattered Hendrix shirt on, no one cared though.

Spin. Click. Pass.

Charlie was stoned off his ass, he kept nodding like one of those cheap bobble heads he collected. He had a hat on from that time the school did Othello, feather bobbing around as his head bounced. If he had gobbled we might have mistaken him for a turkey.

Spin. Click. Pass.

The empty bottle of JD we’d split sat in the middle of our circle, on top was that wooden box your father hid his stash and important things in. Things he didn’t want kids getting their hands on.

Spin. Click. Pass.

On your turn you would get so nervous that you’d strike a silly pose and for so long just hold it, and hold it, and hold it. Until we’d get frustrated and tell you to just get it over with.

Spin. Click. Pass.

Your disappointment always made you look so God damn beautiful.