Today after my workout, while I was reading through a local community paper while I drank my MetRx at the gym. I ran across the obituary for a guy who was who had an Unusual Last Name. An Unusual Last Name I recognized.
There was this guy... In high school...
His first name was Greg. It's lucky I didn't have any classes with Greg. When I would catch sight of him coming towards me in the hallways between classes, I'd walk right into a bank of lockers. Forget what class I was going to. Drop my books.
And totally get a hardon like only a seventeen-year-old boy can get a hardon.
Greg was about 5'8", and a total little fireplug. The guns on him! And the pecs! This was way before anybody went to the gym, especially greasers. Which Greg was. So he didn't play sports. So that hot body was his. Everyday he wore jeans and workboots and the only day-to-day variation was whether he wore a tight white pocket tshirt or a tight black pocket tshirt. And they were always pocket tshirts because he had a pack of Marlboro Reds there. For awhile, Greg was dating the stepsister of a friend of mine. Verrrrry unnerving to be hanging out at John's house and in the door comes Greg to pick up Maria. Totally humina-humina-humina...
So I read down in the obituary, and sure enough, Mr. Unusual Last Name was survived by his son, Greg. Who lives ten minutes north of me in Ottsville. I wonder if he's listed in the phone book..?
There he is.
With his address.
Maybe next time I'm up that way I'll drive there.