Pedro’s snoring in bed, as office lights soar across the Brooklyn sky.
His high school pictures flooding a shaky wooden desk and stickered chair as images of soccer games, prom & senior trip all lay flat in a crimson album. The leather book is almost full, so only a few teen memory squares are left.
Oscar is going to Miami; Julio to L.A. & Cindy is packing for Boston. It was just the other day when his torn JanSport backpack layed against a rusty gray fence by the littered handball courts; doubles ruled Tuesdays. Their ashed hands smacked that blue ball against graffiti inked concrete walls weekly.
Leading to the occasional shouts of “that was in, that was in, that was in…look”. At the end Jorge would then give out juices from his dads Bodega for the walk home.