EAST DETENTION

Guilty pleasure.

Informer— Snow

Dirk.

I first met Dirk when I was about 15. He was dating my friend's sister. They would one day marry and have a beautiful boy with kiwi-brown eyes.

Dirk was six or seven years older than us, sharp, wildly funny, brooding, and volatile.

One midnight as we were leaving his apartment, he began throwing peanuts and coins at us from his second-story window, in protest of our exit. We laughed, until the coins gave way to full beer cans. Then we ran.

Some years later, on the eve of my friend's wedding, we barreled down the LIE on our way to Brooklyn with Dirk's Deadhead friend James behind the wheel. We licky-boom-boom-downed all the way, giggly and goofy. It was great.

That was the last time I saw Dirk. Several months later, he walked out to a field behind his house and lit himself on fire.

And now the weather forecast is calling for real snow tomorrow.

It is winter.

Fuck.

Dirk.