Member-only story
Coffee, Calamity, Chaos, and Church
A street love story
We bought cups of joe with petty cash and paid for cocaine in street credit.
We shot up the Grande grounds in crowded Starbucks bathrooms and enjoyed eight balls with our croissants on cold corners.
Some of us were dumb or hopeful enough to wait for roses to grow out of the crevices of the curbs we sat on.
Trying to figure out how to celebrate Mother’s and Father’s day with our moms and dads gone.
Advice was given to us by those hosting and hoisting powderkegs.
Vets who came back from war and walked through hell without their legs.
You know what they say, take the king’s shilling, and you’ll eventually do his killing. We looked up to villains who polluted buildings, we turned groups of abused children into unions of dudes chilling, using just to mute our feelings.
Novocaine never numbed us so we stuck our faces in Columbian raw until we couldn’t feel them. When we couldn’t win student council elections fair and square, we would blatantly steal them.
Recess was filled with revolution and revolting bad character actors who dreamed of one day storming a capitol building somewhere.
Peewee conspiracy theorists who thought physical ed was an attack on their character and entire belief systems — and that D.A.R.E was unfair.
Schoolyard bullies and promiscuous prom queens who became respective unpaid interns and abused chiefs of staff to your favorite President.
Graduates from an alma mater of hard knocks, of a school in a town where you’d pay taxes not to be a resident.
