The years have not been kind to many of them. I know them because the cursor drawn across their photos gives their names but between the 10 plus pounds of beer weight and give aways of a few too many hook ups in their deadened eyes, they’re hardly recognizable.
It makes me wonder for a second because to many of them I would not be recognizable. Not because I have followed in their post-high school/college life of excess, but because, well, I knew of most of them far more than they ever knew of me. At 16, that was depressing and fading into the drab white walls seemed to imprison me in a life far too ordinary, away from the excitement.
Their empty eyes now fill me with a compassion I never had for them then. Envy and lust but never a desire to see the popular happy. Their only constant companion now appears to be a full bottle of beer and at mid way between the beginning of adulthood and the end of their roaring twenties, they’re gonna need more. More to their lives.