When I was a kid I lived next to the only white kids in City Terrace - Johnny and Adam. Johnny became my best friend and we were always stuck with Adam because little brothers are nothing if not sticky. His mom was a hippie. Her car, a piece of shit Maverick, was named Harmony. They had a fucking beagle they named Snoopy.
We and our merry band of brothers and sisters from the neighborhood would build forts, climb trees, have pomegranate wars - there was no way of pretending you weren't hit.
After the first Great Pomegranate War the number of combatants decidedly dwindled. I suspect many of our friends became POWs to the nefarious group known as Parental Units, tortured for ruining perfectly good school clothes. Johnny and I remained undaunted and partook in all three of the Great Pomegranate Wars. In our last war we were forced to face one another with a small band of replacement warriors and one or two grizzled veterans of the first two wars. It had been too easy when we were on the same side the first two wars. This time, we would test our mettle against the only worthy adversary either of us could bother respecting.
Memory of war is hazy. Besides, does anyone ever really win?
I don't remember which of us moved first.
I wonder if pomegranate trees can grow on the Gulf Coast.
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