Tomorrow, we’re graduating.
So we took our beers out to the football field, laid down at the fifty yard line, and lit up our joints.
And we talked all night.
Who’s going where?
College, or the Army, or a job?
Bobby got drafted by the Dodgers, he’s going rookie ball.
His dad wants him to do college ball first, but Bobby thinks he’s that good.
Who needs another beer?
Who needs another joint?
The cops left us alone.
The campus security left us alone.
When the sun came up, we all went home.
And we never saw each other again.