Rocco and I ended up at the local arcade downtown on Cherry Street.
“I’ve got ten bucks to get us to New York and Paris,” he said, sliding four quarters into the slot and grabbing the wheel for the new Motorcycle Mayhem racing game.
“Do you even know how to drive?” I stood behind him, slurping a medium raspberry ice.
I guessed my loud slurping distracted Rocco enough to lose all his games.
Ten dollars later, broke with nothing to show for it, Rocco told me he had to leave.
I refilled my raspberry ice on the way out and had to run to keep up with Roc. “Why are you in such a hurry?” I yelled at the back of his head.
He stopped and leaned up against a tree at the public park near the Elementary school on Wells Avenue.
I hurried to his side, out of breath and sweaty. “Rocco, what’s wron
