TGSNT, Epilogue.
 
Where they came from, and where they went.
 
Steinmetz who recently promo'd this blog and said some tearjerkingly nice things about it/me, was in my Marching Band, as he has recounted in excellent detail elsewhere. I decided he was ok the minute I met him, and I've yet to regret that decision. For some reason he called me Haystack on one of the worst days of my life, and it made me inexplicably happy for days. Ever unintimidated by my oft-fearsome countenance, he has never been afraid to tell me I'm stupid, and someday I hope to return the favor. That, or I will finally noogie him.
 
Jen had been in my Honors College courses, although I don't think I attended them often enough for her to notice me. She actually went to class, so she actually knows all kinds of stuff. She was, if you ask her, a bookworm when we met, and I briefly pondered that pursuit. Thankfully, my sense of inadequacy kicked in just in time, and we just became pretty good friends. How good, you ask? In 1993, when my son Will was born, she came to the hospital to visit ASAP. When she found out I was in dire financial straits, she got me a job driving strippers. That's a true friend, in my book.
 
D (not her real name, as far as you know) flashed across the Guthrian estroscope and was gone forever.  I have no idea of her whereabouts, and that preserves her as perfect. Time has not wrinkled her brow, or made embarrassing sags in once-firm territories; she will end her days as a cute, engaging, and unfathomably desirable 21-year-old. We should all be so lucky. I hope she is as happy as she made me, albeit briefly, wherever she is. I only wish I'd learned my lesson when she was teaching; other tutors have been far less kind.
 
Kat ended up marrying Hobbit Dave. Their daughter Kia is beautiful, and is an ace dog-showing person. Kat is still a very kind person, even though she's got plenty of excuses not to be, as well as being a very tough person (which is understandable, but not obvious.) I get the feeling that she knows a lot more about me than she's letting on, and that's a really, really good thing. We like her. She always drags Elaine out to see me play, and they never complain about my utter lack of talent.
 
Skip is a writer/editor/copy monkey for the local Rag. He will never admit to any of this, especially the part with the Leftists.
 
Mike Bruce strangles women, so I'm glad he's not in this story.For starters, Jen would have put his eyes out...
 
Why you looked this far down is anybody's guess, but here's something to hold your eye and warm your synapses.
 
We were all just biding time until the end of our adolescence, and Jen's house was like a community center full of bored latchkey kids waiting to get naked or picked up by their parents... and nobody's parents ever showed up, to my knowledge. Far from abandoned, most of us hid here, in flesh or in glass, until Something Else Happened. The fact that nobody ever died from alcohol poisoning or contracted AIDS just insulated us further from the real world, even in memory. We were blessed to have this pocket, this seemingly grouchless trashcan full of like-minded underachievers. We abused it thoroughly, and I'm pretty sure that's what it was there for. 
 
I have more stories to tell, but this is the only one of Austin St. I hope you liked it, or you're willing to smile and nod if you didn't. I'd appreciate feedback, no matter what you have to say. My next post will be up by Tuesday. Goodnight, and may tomorrow find you better than today left you.