Mr. Nice Guy
That’s what my sister, and her friends called him. At school, he used to come over, and talk to them on lunch about Feminists, and stuff. You know the type, he didn’t wear an old timey hat, and a trenchcoat. He didn’t have no neck beard, neither. Not yet, he was only 13, or 14, and he graduated middle school the same year as my sister, and her friends. She just told me about him, and “Don’t talk to him, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” but he came over to talk to her while we’re hanging around the gas station. They had up picnic tables, and roach coaches. You know, big box vans, and trailers with hotdogs, and stuff, so you could get a bite to eat. It was a place to hang …