Timefreak

We was all five year olds, us here: Bri and Jim and me. You could see us skip along and talk. There was this sandbox and some parents, assorted moms and dads, but none was ours. We was mind-aged like we are today, in our early twenties, but looked like goddamn little kids.

The parents was blown away by our suave sophisticate; they was suspicious, dig? Then Bri planned that we should act like we was all really five. So we did. We threw off our clothes and touched each other and ran around and yelled and kicked up sand.

I mentioned that we wasn’t acting five ‘cause we did all those things anyway. Jim was busy filling a red plastic pail but paused to look at me. “Hell,” he said. “We might as well be eighty.”

It got dark and the parents went home to smack their kids and watch TV. We walked into a bar and were served right off. I asked the ‘tender how come he didn’t proof us and he laughed. “Old timers come in here alla time wanna be proofed,” he said. Bri pointed at the mirror across the room. We was old, older than my grandfather.

We all got real drunk.