Joe Myers

“It’s all about the little details, my friend.”

Joe Myers was a chill dude in all respects. Saggy jeans and a loose fitting t-shirt, his matted blond hair hung around his head in waves, topped off with a green winter hat no matter the season. He shook his head in a rocking motion like he was bobbing to the sound of silence. His eyes glazed over a lot when you tried to talk to him, and his fingers were always formed around a cigarette or a pipe even when there wasn’t anything in them.

He didn’t slack off in school, but didn’t try much more than that. Settled with an apathetic, easygoing lifestyle, Joe Myers abstained from relationships and pronounced his true love as the words of poetry and life.

We met in the back of Algebra class, me a freshman, him a junior. Two years my senior, we weren’t supposed to get along, but I guess he liked that I was chill. Being in different classes than my other fellow freshmen left me isolated a lot, and most of the upperclassmen felt weird around me, leaving me with Joe Myers.

After school ended, I sat on the steps behind the school, watching him take a whiff out of his bong with a satisfied smile. I never smoked, never got high, couldn’t really. My mother had the nose of a canine, but the disapproving look that could have Satan begging for mercy. Absolutely no way was I going to try anything like that.

Joe Myers understood this and never offered me a whiff. It was our pact.

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