By Jeremy Griffin
I was with Nosh, cruising around town in the clunky brown pickup his older brother Chad had been forced to give up after his second DUI. The case of Pabst we’d bought off a couple of frat guys was in the middle of the floorboard, already half-empty. This was in early September, a Friday, close to midnight, and my guess was that right about then most of our graduating class was heading out to keg parties and sorority mixers at whichever schools they’d left town to attend. But not me and Nosh. A year earlier we’d been promising athletes, part of the Nix High Gators’ starting line, him a linebacker, me a running back, but now we were just another couple of washouts, prowling the quiet streets of Nix, Louisiana, like a pair of penned-up animals sniffing around for a way out. Continue reading
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