"99 Bottles of Beer" used to sound from the back of the school bus whenever Dillon and I sat together. We never got further in the song than "71 bottles," though, before the teachers stopped us.
Fourth grade; it was always sunny. I remembered those days as I sat in the police station. A tall, broad-shouldered, and handcuffed Dillon entered from the hall, led by another officer. He grinned when he saw my face above the uniform.
"I didn't wanna book you, man," I said wearily.
"Spare me the lecture." His grin widened. "The judge already gave me one."
Fourth grade; it was always sunny. I remembered those days as I sat in the police station. A tall, broad-shouldered, and handcuffed Dillon entered from the hall, led by another officer. He grinned when he saw my face above the uniform.
"I didn't wanna book you, man," I said wearily.
"Spare me the lecture." His grin widened. "The judge already gave me one."
