READER SUBMITTED CONTENT These images and stories are taken from my photo scrapbook called “And Everyday Was Overcast,” which is about my formative years in South Florida.
These images and stories are taken from my photo scrapbook called “And Everyday was Overcast,” which is about my formative years in South Florida.
Throughout 7th grade my buddy Will and I would cut class to ride our bikes out to this bridge that became our hangout spot. We’d sit on the railing, smoke cigarettes, eat Airheads, and make wishes by spitting into the canal. We could do this for hours and always wish for the same thing: to one day get a blow job. We did this for years …
… I didn’t get head until 10th grade but at that moment I knew things were going to change for me.
The gas station by my old house was plastered with pictures of townies and their trophy kills — mainly alligators they’d hunt from the canals that ran alongside our homes.
Throughout 9th grade this girl would drop intricately folded letters inside my locker. All I knew about her was that she lost her virginity to a stalky redhead nicknamed “The Wrangler” and at the time she was dating the only redneck in a predominately black school.
Looking back, her letters were a flattering mindfuck, although I still can’t get rid of the mental image of that scrawny hick’s wispy mustache defiling her.
A redneck and his dog.
God bless the girl who’d use my disposable camera to take photos of girls I liked in the locker room. I almost miss those awkward days of jittering in line at Walgreens photo developing center.
Black Metal Mike making out.
Christmas morning in West Palm Beach Florida and a mediocre ass tattoo of a cartoon baker serving a heart.
My cousin did this when I said I “might” get him the toy he wanted for his birthday.
Robert was the only kid at my interdisciplinary high school who I knew that listened to death metal. Anyone who could recite all the words to Cannibal Corpse’s “The Bleeding” had to be my friend.
During my 14th birthday party I found him on the floor of the garage pulling blood out from his arms with a syringe, then drinking it. I didn’t know him that well, and none of us knew how to react to that or him foaming out the mouth. It wasn’t until the paramedics came that we found out he had tried to commit suicide by overdosing on pills.
Robert lived but later on in life he got serious into the Nazi skinhead scene and last I heard is in prison for manslaughter.
Like most shit-hole towns in America, some of the most fun to be had in my hometown was taking acid and bugging out at the mall.
Riley and Vanessa were best friends. Word around school was that they kept a shoebox of things that were important to their friendship. Inside were their first tampons, the condoms that took their virginity, stacks of photo-booth photos, an old piece of chewing gum they shared for a week, and a tied bundle of one another’s pubes.
I secretly thought the box idea was really cool.
He’d always say, “If you want to hang out in the barber shop, expect a haircut.”
Christina and Lisa were sisters who sold coke, gel tabs, and random pills from their apartment. Their place shared a ventilation system with John Dees tavern that tarnished anything fabric or edible with the scent of BBQ sauce and coagulated pig / cow blood.
After Lisa had a stillborn at a house party, they both disappeared. No one knew where to but we assumed they went to live with their mother in Miami.
Before I knew they left, we went to check on them. The door wasn’t locked and a majority of their stuff was still in the apartment. Inside their bathroom I found an old photo of them in the medicine cabinet and a cow’s head in the bathtub.
A week later John Dee’s Tavern extended their kitchen into what was once their apartment.