Prologue: A Broliloquy

When you hear the term “me and the boys”, what comes to mind? How do you feel? Who do you think of?

For me, what comes to mind is unity, solidarity, and brotherhood; but what I feel is an immense sense of longing.

Let me use a concrete example:

A good friend would drive to pick you up from jail. A great friend would show up with the bail money. But a true homie would be in the cell right next to you.

Once you’ve tasted this kind of camaraderie, everything else becomes flavourless in comparison.

The friends I had were routine troublemakers with me. Most of our waking hours would be spent together, from the first day of kindergarten to the last day of 9th grade.

We were fed with the same foods, hurt by the same elements. Subject to the same curriculums, studied by the same means; warmed and cooled by the same summers and winters. If one of us was pricked, we bled together. If one of us was tickled, we laughed together. If one of us was poisoned, we would’ve suffered together. And if one of us was treated badly, we sure as hell would’ve thrown hands together.

But those once-intimate bonds could now only be viewed in hindsight. By the end of high school, we were nothing more than old friends who shared the same hometown.

So here’s the story of how that changed— a written account of the unforgettable nights with me and the boys, detailing our journey towards the restitution of our brotherhood...

Via adventure.