During our high school days we sought wild and remote places for our rites of passage, disguised as camping trips. We packed the necessities; beanie wienies,, potted meat, corned beef hash, etc. Much smoke was called for, so we bought cheap cigars which we smoked until our tongues were blistered. We drank a horrible alcohol ladened concoction called Champale. The name says it all. We always set up beside a stream in which we skinny dipped, occasionally lining up as God made us to wave at rare passersby. At night our transistors picked up clear channel AM stations from far cities playing old rock and roll.
The center of it all was a huge fire around which we philosophized through the night into the early morning hours, talking about girls, cars, our futures, and girls. We marveled at the seriousness and lack of energy of our respective parents, especially since we had life so clearly figured out.
Every so often we would all stop talking and listen.
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