It's 1994, and we live on a street named Mortimer on the west side of Cleveland. Back then, it was idyllic. Or at least it felt that way as a 5-year-old kid.
I had friends every few houses, a massive park at the end of the street, and a convenience store two blocks over that always had Reese's Cups on sale. F*cking perfection.
It was the 90s, so us kids did pretty much whatever we wanted. Kickball in the street, racing bikes past dark, stealing Playboys from our friend's dad's basement and reading them on the sidewalk in broad daylight. Ah, good times.
But that’s why when Tim (we’ll call him Tim even though that’s not his real name) invited me over to his house to play video games, I immediately said yes. Tim and his parents (whom I hadn't met yet) had just moved into the neighborhood, about 5 houses down on the opposite end of the street (all this info will matter later).
We head over, and his house is awesome. There’s posters of rock bands everywhere, not just in his room, but literally all over the house. And it smells like barbeque sauce. I honestly have no freaking idea why those are the two things I remember, but that was my 5-year-old brain for you.
Tim’s asking me what we should play and showing me his gaming collection when I hear voices. Oh, that must be his parents. As they get closer, they sound…bigger. Before I can finish processing the thought, in pop two of the largest grown-ups I had ever seen smiling ear to ear.
So, what do I do? Yell, “PLEASE DON’T EAT ME!” And proceed to run, yes Usain Bolt sprint, back to my house across the street.
My god, do I wish I was making this story up. But it’s 100% the truth.
Oh, and all because of Hymie.
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