naked blonde walks into a bar with a poodle under one arm

When I was fifteen I had a crush on a guy named Chris that everyone called Biff. He was on the football team and wore a dirty tan Carhartt jacket and drove a beater pickup truck that usually had his black lab in the back, even during class. He gave me a ride home from school once and I couldn't sit still I was so excited.

Just kiss me, just kiss me, just kiss me.

Please.

Or get me high.

Or both.

We cruised along, crossed the bridge from the mainland and headed down the one paved road of the island. Biff was driving too fast and the truck was bouncing.

Slow down, slow down-- so there's more time.

Slow down so you have more time to kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.

I'm pushing my right foot down on the floor, like I can control the brake and suddenly there's this big ruckus in the back of the truck. I whip around to look, just in time to see the black lab rolling down the road behind us in the dust. 

Anyway.

Biff is who I saw The Breakfast Club with.

The first time.