The Walgreen’s of choice just so happens to be the neighborhood I grew up in. The corner is a familiar one located at Harry and Broadway. Memories of riding my bike up and down, back and forth across all of these streets. I once saw an accident at the intersection. A car had a run in with the fire hydrant and the intersection was knee high in water. I remember this because I thought it would be rad to build a boat and float. The area was known for its terrible flooding habits.

Though this time my aspirations of sailing were nowhere to be found and I was picking up some film from the 1-hour photo lab at the Walgreen’s of choice. The weather called for a hoodie, so being the Boy Scout that I am I was prepared.

The clinical Walgreen’s scent permeated the store as I walked to 1-hour photo lab counter. The talking fish was still in full stock, as if it were the hot new gift for the good ole boys and the 50 million pack of batteries were on sale for $9.99.

Finally making it past the hot sales, I stood at the counter with my hood up. The photo technician asked me what the last name was.

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As was the case as usual, I made an appearance at the alley house. Playing the guitar for a good roll, Dale had also decided to make an appearance. Wasted as usual, Dale walked in and was offered a beer by Jessie.

Jessie is the nephew of Dale, a 17-year old guitar (gee-tar) guru and one fuck of a kid to hang with. So it’s only obvious as to the offering of beer to Dale on Jessie’s part.

Around 50 years-old, Dale is a bit if a drinker I must say, perhaps closer to a guzzler more so than a drinker. Dale is the father of a kid that my brother and I grew up with while I was an early teen. His round small spectacles rested on his slender face atop his mass of a beard, giving him the persona of a biker-pirate. This particular night Dale was sporting a blue welding cap/hat that was branding the rebel flag. His swagger is one of similarity to that of Jack Sparrow. A country boy at heart, Dale is pure redneckness.

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My younger brother still resides in the same neighborhood that we grew up in. His house is no more than fifty feet from the house we lived in for about 15 years. He refers to his little cottage in the rough as the ‘alley house’. The neighborhood runs rampant of deadbeat dads, lost hope, dope and dependency. There is an occasional glimpse of light that manages to make its way out of such a scenario though that is rather rare.

As kids my brother and I, mainly my brother, befriended two other bothers. Twins at birth, the two were quite different in their demeanor and mannerisms throughout our childhood. I had always felt great empathy for these two because of their lifestyle at home and awkwardness with other kids.

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