Hurteau’s parents owned the snack bar in the mall. Dave (for that was his first name) worked there. He always smelled like fries, which always made me hungry. Hurteau also kept a diary: a pile of loose-leaf folded in quarters, so worn that the paper had taken on the texture of flannel. The sheets would tear when I unfolded them to read. He didn’t write anything all that interesting, just a few notes on the porn flicks he watched with Frosty, and a few vaguely obscene drawings featuring Stephanie or the school social worker.

Frosty was Dave Hurteau’s best friend, and vice versa. We called him Frosty for obvious reasons. He used to joke around, said “getting frosted” brought out his true personality. He was super good-looking. At first no one really noticed Frosty. His features were pretty standard, but everything about him was perfect. He had great arms, beautiful hands, a nice neck, a straight back, a tight ass, and muscular legs. A lot of young men, especially at that age, have the lower body of a chicken, but not Frosty. Good genes. That guy had a hearty laugh and a firm erection. He slept well at night. And he was funny. He smelled like melted butter; it was especially noticeable when he hadn’t showered for a few days. To this day I think about those two every time I go into a greasy spoon for breakfast.

Hurteau and Frosty were the main people I hung out with in high school. They must have put up with me because I was the only girl who gave them the time of day. My own life didn’t interest them much. Their main concerns were whether I was holding any weed, whether they could smoke it with me, and whether the G spot actually existed. Our favourite thing to do was watch The Simpsons while eating jujubes and waiting for the knives on the stove to turn red. Oh, and sex, of course. What self-respecting teenager would pass up the chance? I know human relationships can offer much more complex joys, but that would have required putting in far more energy than I was getting out of it. Those two took off for California right after high school. Made a fortune when medical marijuana was legalized. I go visit them every couple years. We talk about the good old days and tell the same old stories, like the time Frosty was so fast asleep that the pool of drool on his desk started dripping onto the classroom floor.

5

Good Dogs

The problem with most people is they never shut up. They’re constantly communicating, forever shoving their noses in your business. They’re hard to keep in check. They never stop inventing scenarios and harbouring suspicions. They take wrong turns. They’re hard to figure out. They’re unpredictable. They lie. They’re terrible actors. They self-destruct. They’re cruel.