tom

poway california 1990, mid june

tom and you were 15, broke, dumb, but the worlds best couple. tom was a skater. he always wore the same pair of checkered vans, backwards padres cap, baggy jorts, no shirt. he was tall and lanky, his brown hair shaved back into a buzz cut, and brown eyes that sparkled.

at 7 he got up. he put on a bon jovi tape and made breakfast- which consisted of toast and a pepsi. after that he grabbed his skateboard and skated to the record store where you and mark worked. he just liked harassing you all at work.

the bell on the door jingled at his entry “hey mothafuckas” he said loudly

“dickface put a shirt on” mark said without even looking up.

“and get a tan line? hell no” he went behind the counter where yall stood and propped his board against the wall

he tugged at your braid “babayyy”

“tom go away. go listen to the new billy idol record.” he groaned and sat down next to mark completely ignoring you

“hey tom don’t come crying to me.” mark said to him.