Postcard from underneath the bleachers
I suggested a late-night stroll beneath the mimosa trees. They smelled like heaven in the dark.
Mr. Pistol had other ideas. He took me to the high school football field–Home of the Tigers! the signs say–and pulled out a flask of Crown.
A girl’s gotta watch out around here. Cuz boy, one thing sure leads to another!
Luckily, the Baptist church is right across the street.
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