David, Choy, Martin and I got wasted here a few dozen times. Martin first took us to Bulldog’s for some carousing after our win in the soccer tournament. We’d sit by the big gas pipe next to the bathroom and not mind the stench. We’d put a few dollars in the jukebox and listen to Fleetwood Mac and Bruce Springsteen and the Who and Pink Floyd, break a few glasses and manage to have a grand time being young and obnoxious. No one seemed to mind. I felt comfortable here, where everyone had an intimate relationship with cold beer and hard liquor.
(From the novel The Pacific Between)
Category: Ray, Writing, Fiction, Pacific Between