On the best summer days, we’d play with friends all day and sleep outside at night. You might get to have one friend over. Maybe two.
We’d wait for lights to dim and our parents to sleep. The big maple at the end of the block was our gathering place. We whispered jokes and lies in the dark. Coughs stifled laughter. We’d light and flick matches; in later years, we smoked. Sometimes Denny would strip naked and run around the street.
At the sight of a house light or sound of a car, we scattered to our sleeping bags until morning.