The memory comes fast and furious like an Alabama storm. How I used to drive you to the trailer park past Plantation Hills so you could fuck men for 35 dollars a pop, migrant workers that lived two too many to a bedroom. Were you even 18 then? You’d give me 10 dollars to drive you; 20 if I said no and really meant it. A couple quick shooters and you could have enough to last the weekend. The best rocks were dense. Ribbed like slickrock, the moon rocks you buy at the hippy store, the ones me...
