We used to take long night walks through the neighborhood, sipping beers and talking the most boring shit, never encountering another soul. No one walks at night in the burbs. There’s no one out there but the mail boxes. We would leave our beer bottles in them, piss in them, treat them like family. Since there were no curbs or sidewalks (too middle class and functional), everyone had those idiotic lollipop lawn reflectors set up to keep kids’ Camaros off their precious grass. We would gather huge bouquets of them, then smash them on the street one by one. There were always more where they came from.

When we got cars, we got more ambitious. We drove around, sipping beers, stealing dozens of real estate signs off people’s lawns. Then we’d pick a mark and set his or her yard up like a Stratego board, then rip the shit out of the lawn driving away. Perhaps “ambitious” is the wrong word.