Everyone has there place, their crews spot, the one they'll always remember.
I remember nights in this car park when it was so cold. The wind would rush through pulling snot from your nose and tears from your eyes. I remember we'd all hang out there. Imagine that. A supermarket carpark, being a social hive of activity.
It sounds strange, but sometimes I miss it. Most of the time I definitely don't, but just sometimes, its ghost creeps into my head full of the simplest of wonderment and a cast iron collection of blithe stories, and mildly amusing anecdotes.
Here lies the body of John Jadagowski. A definite shareholder in the wax on those curbs.
