PASS THE BISCUITS

We were standing on a corner in Dalhart Texas when Rucker flagged a carload of girls down. They pulled over to the side walk and Rucker sets the date with them…
“Meet us here at 2AM, don’t be late”
and he and I went back into the Poolroom where the 50 boys of Troop 345 would be spending the night on our way to Red River New Mexico for Summer Camp.
I don’t know how we did it, but somehow Rucker and I crawled past Chan, the grizzled old Scoutmaster; past Mr. Hill, the Assistant; and even past Owen Kaiser, a great big grouchy bear of a man who likely would have skinned us alive had we made so much as a squeak and woke his brawny  German ass up.

When we made it to that dark Dalhart street corner at 2 AM there was no carload of prime Dalworth pussy waiting for us. We still had to count ourselves the luckiest kids there could have ever been because we didn’t get thrown in jail and we managed to get back into that Pool Hall undetected by ol' man Kaiser.
Later that trip, Rucker would take on a fever and talk deliriously, sequestered and quarantined in the tent and near death on his cot, shouting "bring biscuits and whores" untill we finally found Chan's beer in an icy New Mexican stream and carried it to share with poor Rucker in order to break the fever, which it did quite well.

Of course, within about a year or so we would find ourselves in a bit of a bind with some runaway shavetails and a pack of Swisher sweets in Southlake Texas, a small town that they roll up the streets at 6PM, back when the entire Jail was made of chicken wire, where we waited till our parents came to get us at 5 O'Clock in the Texas morning.
Ol' man Kaiser was there by virtue of his son John having been an accomplice. My good friend who lived across the street, John.
Herr Kaiser simultaniously held John by the ear and kicked him in the ass all the way from the chicken wire jail to the car.
Poor John got it the worst, and never hung out with me much after that.