July 29, 2018:
The beach house at Black's. Rocks, bb gun, kids in glasses. Two dudes I'm today not fond of.
The grownup: my patronizing Big Brother of America with his entire life mapped including me as the Disadvantaged Underclass Scruff he'd enlighten with his masculinity and enoble with his bucks. His young wife was friendly and fun. Here they're newlyweds, not yet destroyed by drink and futility. I somehow saw pictures of them years later: it isn't pretty.
The kid: skinny weasel neighbor boy who coveted my bb gun so much he later broke into our apartment, twice, leading a posse of neighbor dudes who for one reason or another felt it was their calling to liberate whatever small property people who live in apartments are able to accumulate. I don't think they took anything I gave a real shit about. Maybe, like, a diving knife or something. This is later, after we've fallen out and I've knocked him on his ass and marginally smacked him, not to do damage but to prove that I could if necessary. I've always been Johnny Compassionate.
Skinny weasel neighbor boy is trying to shoot crabs with my bb gun. Lotso symbolism there. Trying to harm some little life using weapons that belong to someone else.