We Were Here: July 16–July 19

No lie, dude was out cold, snoring and twitching, drooling on his damn mattress, probably dreaming about chillin’ with one of the disciples.

Still, man, it wasn’t gonna be easy getting past the living room without him catching me in his peripheral.

Before we rounded a corner I looked back over my shoulder and saw the night-watch guy bumbling into the road in front of the house.

There probably wasn’t anybody following us once we cut out of our own neighborhood, but what the hell, man: if you’re gonna break outta some place like a group home you might as well break out running, right? Plus our adrenaline was going like crazy.

I swore every set of car tires I heard on the street was the cops scouring the neighborhood looking for us.

"You was tellin’ lies, Mexico,” he said, hardly registering the punch.

What the hell did I care if he was a damn illiterate or not?

“I know you guys aren’t all on weekend pass. Three at one time? All of you hiding behind a Dumpster like fugitives? Uh-uh. I’m not that naïve...."

“I know you guys aren’t all on weekend pass. Three at one time? All of you hiding behind a Dumpster like fugitives? Uh-uh. I’m not that naïve...."

Anyway, I figure since I’m doing you guys a solid by picking you up, aiding and abetting and all that, it’s not too much to ask for a little something in return.

By the time it happened a second and third time I was totally jaded about relationships in general.

I mean, first they take away Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. Then they shatter the idealized vision you have of your parents.

And soon they have a friendly correspondence going. They’ve become pen pals who live only three train stops away.

But at the same time if he was really schizophrenic like I thought, it would make mad sense, right?

“It’s so high the impact of hitting the water mostly kills them. But if it doesn’t, they just drown anyway.”
“Tough way to go, man,” I said, glancing at Mong. Even Mellow Mong was morbid as hell.

The three of us sat up all groggy, stretching our arms and looking all around.

It was dark out, and at first I couldn’t see anything except the massive black ocean across the street. “Where are we?” I said, all disoriented.

He folded his arms and told Rondell to get away from the nectarines unless he planned on buying every single one his grubby hands touched.

The guy cringed and kept his head to the side like that for a few seconds. And then he lowered his eyes to the ground and sort of cowered in front of Mong.

About a mile or so down Mong veered us across this little bank, past an old unused road with mad weeds shooting up where paint used to be, and into the thick sand.

Growing up, Diego was always the crazy one. Starting fights and jacking beers from the bodega across town and messing with mad girls.

“Why didn’t you just say it then, Mexico? You don’t gotta bring up me and the devil like that. It’s blasphemic.”
“Uh, you mean ‘blasphemous’?”

Teachers labeled him: “aloof,” “withdrawn,” “violent,” “at risk.”

Teachers labeled him: “aloof,” “withdrawn,” “violent,” “at risk.”

Currently on waiting list for donor and kidney transplant. Outlook uncertain.

Under criminal history: Arrested at fourteen for arson, set fire to family house in Los Angeles.

Arrested at fifteen for vandalism and disorderly conduct.

Clinically depressed, severely antisocial, suicidal tendencies.

Mother diagnosed with bipolar disorder.

Placed in vocational school program in Juvenile Hall, failed to turn in work.