growing up we had crummy candy cigarettes we ate just to get rid of. we wanted to smoke the real shit like dad—fugging camels. we didn't want to look cute. dad's were evil and exciting. we'd would die for those, someday. we had toy guns and we got tired of pretending to kill each other. we felt the pressure without the reality. we had no idea but plenty ideas. when you're a little bigger they would say. we burned stuff and tried devilishly hard to grow up fast and even then we were looking back all the time wishing we could be the kids we left behind.