They walk hand in hand along the boardwalk, the tall boy
with red hair, a shorter boy whose hair is black and neck graced with tattoos,
two kids straight out of a time when I was one of them, only then I came to
places like this in search of girls, always going home empty-handed, when this
is not the case for these two, who like us are not part of the popular set,
mocked by jocks, beaten up by hoods, held together by the common terror of high
school, needing love popular girls won’t give them, yet somehow managing to
avoid the wasteland our generation was forced to confront, these two walking
hand in hand, defiant, battling the same loneliness, but armed with the arms of
each other. I envy them, these two walking proud, here in a place when at their
age, I felt so lonely.
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