Glen

I used to play outside with my next-door neighbor-friend Glen. We would spend our time blowing bubbles, starting forest fires, shocking ourselves with electricity, and eating cigars. This was when we both were eight years old. We were troublesome, and our parents grew annoyed with us, because Glen and I stole cash from our mothers’ purses, and then we used this cash to buy some cherry bombs, and then we used these cherry bombs to blow up our school, which ended up landing us in jail. Actually, I’m joking about that last string of events. — Nowadays, Glen and I don’t often see each other, but I think that we still consider ourselves to be friends.