Drinking, Fighting, Fucking and Crying Title

Drinking, Fighting, F*&king, and Crying

a-clockwork-orangeThis is less overt, so bear with me.

In 1993, the Autumn as I transitioned into my Senior year in High School, I learned that a good friend of mine had killed a young girl in the forest preserves that surround the area where I grew up. This was insane, but what was more insane was the way this information came to me; out on bail for nearly a year, this friend had all of our group naively believing that he was innocent. I’ll spare you the whys and wherefores of our erroneous logic, and simply boil it down to the fact that we were young and trusting, and the deed had occurred after a party in the aforementioned forest preserves. A party where many of the shady A.F. people that hung around those woods were present. With all these variables, it seemed at the time that there was enough reasonable doubt for us to believe our friend had been framed.

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