The dreaded "cherry fights"

The park was and still is a desolate place. Playing football on a gravel field taught us how not to fall. Trying to keep our skin in once piece was at times more important that catching the pig skinned ball. Watching Bill "the Judge" on the other hand, piss on passing cars as they drove down Gouin was possibly one of our favorite pass time. How those fond memories fade like my eyesight after getting hit on the head with a baseball bat, or drinking too much and watching Numbas and "Burt" puke in my bushes so they can drink some more. Holy Lord! We felt like the Romans. Drinking and smoking our brains out, bring girls over to the house when the folks were out of town. Cracking into papa's liquor cabinet and drinking Ramazotti till we puked raisins in the snow. Damn we had good times, but nothing compared to the "cherry fights." They weren't really cherry's. They grew from these strange trees that surrounded the park. They were very hard, inedible, fell by the millions. Fuck did they hurt! It all happened at the park. A strip of land and gravel that was decorated with childrens playground equipment. It sprawled out to a makeshift tennis court where very intense games of hockey filled our fall evenings. I could never remember who threw the first cherry. Scraping my mind I have vague memories of rolling on the floor in agonizing pain calling out for God, while silhouettes that resembled the likes of Johnny, Sandro and Karem standing above me laughing. Oddly enough, Those same memories melt into images of me stand above Nick while he rolled on the floor calling for god to strike me down with his unmerciful vengeance! There defiantly was a cycle of life around us, and in the end I guess life was good.









written by: "G" Tete Carre