Author: John Rosengren

Buried Treasure

That night­–fall of my senior year–was a Saturday night, so I headed to a party. A bonfire tucked in the woods off Hwy. 55, where we could drink underage to excess. I had a bottle of Seagram’s in my jacket along with a liter of Seven Up. Didn’t take long before I was smashed. I …

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The Echo of Our Lives

It can hit any time. Walking into a store, working at my desk, cooking dinner, I hear the bass crash into the piano keys, Eddie Van Halen’s guitar kick in–suddenly I’m fourteen, a suburban kid running with the devil, passing joints at my first rock concert. Loosely rolled doobies drip ashes that dot holes in …

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