(This is a memoir writing assignment for my Nonfiction Fundamentals course with Southern NH University.)
The Canteen Truck
(The beginning and ending of my life of crime)
Disclaimer: some names have been changed to protect the guilty – or maybe because I forgot them?
“C’mon Rick, you’re the perfect size.” Wow, that is so cool; no one ever said that about me. “Perfect size, yay! Perfect size for what?” I ask while running fast to John. John’s a big kid, three years older than me. “C’mere,” he says, wrapping his arm over my shoulder and behind my neck. His hand lands on my other shoulder. “D’ya see that truck? It’s called a canteen truck.” “You’re silly,” I say, chuckling. “I know it’s a canteen truck.” “Do you know what’s inside it?” I tell him sure I do. There’s candy, cookies, gum and Cokes inside – where we lived, near Boston, we called any soft drink a Coke back then. “Why?” “We want some,” said John.
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