She said his penis was purple.
I’ll never forget that.
Her eyes were full of riverboat captains when she spilled those words onto the long, wooden pier.
I believe he was the first actual photographer I’d ever met.
Loved when he’d have a slideshow in his studio and I’ll never forget the picture of his girlfriend’s breasts in thermal underwear.
Even Jim was impressed with his playing as we got into “Trouble” at DEAD CAT Studio in Columbus, Ohio.
The best acid trips are oftentimes the ones where no acid’s involved.
I always feel like I’m being pushed toward a personal best when we talk on the phone like two insurgents or paisanos.
One time we all went skinny dipping. I’ll never forget Michelle’s eraser sized nipples and how I was told she liked to have them bitten hard.
When looking back at my time at Milo it’s rarely with fondness. Something I find myself still processing like old negatives or memories kept in a trunk from before the war.
There are people from that time though that I’ll always consider close friends no matter if we haven’t spoken in twenty or more years.
Milo was for me a cauldron of outcasts and rapscallions that exists frozen in time like the loneliest of teardrops or unapologetic flames.
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