I want to remember golfing in high school, the pungent morning grass at Potter’s, the "business" lunches at the high school cafeteria. We were little workers, clocking in at 7:30 and then out promptly at 3. Sophisticates we thought, worldly wise and jaded, gathering at the lunch room. There was sloe Mr. Ed, Erik, John D and me. Reg and Suedy joined us too most days when they weren’t in some kind of trouble. Like Flintstone characters we’d gather at our cafeteria table next to the north window, our rep ties pulled rakishly aside, imagining ourselves a bunch of Earl Flynn’s only there for the money only there wasn’t any. Puckishly we’d sit down to brown-bag and cafeteria lunches and smash each other’s food if they let down their guard. Nothing before or since has been as satisfying as smashing Darlington’s cupcakes? The flying food of food fights were a worthy sacrifice - oft I’d ponder the merits of eating a ding-dong or throwing it, and as often as not it would be wing’d freely in the spritz’d high school air! Aloft it went ! - towards places unknown, for as soon as it left my hand I’d be engrossed in a speck on the cafe table top. My comrades would relay it’s splendifourous effects on the target I'd chosen. Oh glory days!