I remember you.
You were that guy. You know, the one our parents warned us about, the one they prayed we wouldn’t bring home in a fit of teenage rebellion.
Despite our parents, or maybe because of them, you were the one we all lusted after, that slightly dangerous guy, that bad boy who could take us all the way to cool.
You wore your hair long, shiny with Brylcreem, slicked back into the perfect DA. And, oh, your eyes. Your eyes promised something we didn’t yet know we wanted.
You lived in dungarees, rolled twice at the ankle. The t-shirt beneath your old leather jacket was white, with sleeves long enough to hold your Joes.
You never walked anywhere in your old black Chuckie T low tops. You sauntered, casual in your indifference to what anyone thought, confident that they thought all the right things.
Oh, yeah, I remember you. You were that guy.
What the hell happened?