Big Pete was a rotund twenty-year-old with thinning red hair that reached down to his butt. He sold and consumed copious amounts of cocaine. He drove his Jeep on a suspended drivers license. He gorged nightly on beef jerky shoplifted from 7-Eleven.
His roommate, The Captain, owed his name to his affection for Captain Morgan rum. The Captain was a bald-on-top, mullet-down-below, goateed, beer-bellied, mid-forties, unemployed chef from Boston. He sat around his apartment all day pulling bong hits, consuming Captain and Cokes and watching MASH reruns on the FX channel.
Pete and The Captain were my neighbors and, for all intents and purposes, my best friends. Continue reading “What Does the Company You Keep Say About You?”