My step-sister and her family live in the Marina because I guess my dad joined a frat. The sister is all about the Pot. The first shipment of the last book was coming in to Books Inc. on Chestnut at midnight. Her overprotective mother, fearing a high-heeled KFC stampede, flash party shirt mob, hushed raping, or whatever else goes on in the marina, enlisted me to go with her. I imagined we’d be greeting a truck backing into a loading dock where we’d wait for some burly mafiosos to toss out packages in brown paper bags. Full of free meatloaf, I obliged, completely unaware of the dangerous journey that lay in waiting.

Standing in line with a hundred teenage girls and boys (dressed like girls) it turns out, is kind of uncomfortable. I made eye contact with a girl in her late twenties, clearly chaperoning as well. we exchanged nods of affirmation. I said something like, “Not really my thing, I don’t know,” To which she responded, “Yeah, it’s kind of crazy in here.” I introduced: “I’m Alex, this is Megan.” “Hi, I’m Jennifer, this little guy is Nathan. Nice to meet you.” When huge boxes were brought in and sliced open, the place erupted like I just smashed the pi

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