Tele-phony.

Last night before I finally went to bed, I talked with Carisa on the phone for three hours. Three fucking hours. I'm not a phone person by any means, but it was a good time. We reminisced about school, mostly. It was sort of fun thinking about how immature we were in our teens. Mostly we talked about the fights I used to get into and how once, after school, Cynthia Wyatt walked up behind me and yanked my hair. Carisa and I were innocently on our way to get something to drink, and along came Cindy. I had long hair at the time, and Cindy pulled it over my eyes and beat the living hell out of me. I couldn't see a thing, so I swung at nothing but air. When all was said and done, my mouth was bloody and my ears were ringing, but all I cared about was getting something to drink. Carisa still teases me about that sometimes, about how my face was swollen and battered, but I still wanted my bloody Coke.. I still say it wasn't a fair fight, but then again, I don't fight like a girl and I think pulling hair is for wankers. Should have gotten it on film, that row. Think of how many dirty old men would pay money to see two girls in school uniforms fighting on the street.

That summer, I got into quite a few fights as well. Ah, the good old days. Tracey Williams and her cousin- whose name I can't remember- and their mate who threw a rock at my head because I was winning against them.

Bet you didn't know I was such trouble, did you?