Part 1: Friday nightįRIDAY NIGHT GOES something like this: I grab my black helmet from my red locker and sway my head to Pastor Troy for 10 minutes straight, the sound of Black Southern magic booming from the speaker in the center of the beige concrete room. We laugh together and we say: It is what it is. Too many hits, my boy, he says, laughing. That's what makes the last 10 years so hard, bruh bruh, I say. Imagine the little silver thing, instead of erasing your memories, it stores them. And the flash doesn't take away what you remember but gives you only a glimpse. And when you get that glimpse, that glimpse feels real and then it leaves and you are only left with a fragment or snapshot. Well, think of my memories like this, I say. The thing where they like erase people's memories? I say. You have reached a degraded version of because you're using an unsupported version of Internet Explorer.įor a complete experience, please upgrade or use a supported browserįorever Friday Night: The haunted true story of my broken football dreamsĬollege Football, Clemson Tigers, USC TrojansĪYE, BRO, DO you remember the little thing from Men in Black? I say.
