Ayron Berlin

I met Abe in studio art class. He was blonde, shaggy, and barefooted. It was winter. He told me he wanted to be a beach bum and to sail boats. I could hear his old, loud, black pick-up truck coming down the road. Despite what my mom might think, he was the one that taught me how to drive (on River Road and while listening to Crazy Train). He let me curl his hair. He drove with his head out the window so the breeze would hit blow. I've never met anyone like him and a wonderful a piece of my youth has left me.