The American Dream

I’ve always wondered what it would be like to grow up in the same city, same neighborhood, same house, with the same friends, by the same rickety death-trap more commonly known as the jungle-gym. To have my own personal bully who started picking on me in kindergarten all the way through elementary school until I valiantly stand up to him only to realize that we’re not so different. We’d spend our high school years competing against each other in feats of strength and wit, going back and forth in our wins & losses. Go to the same university and fight over the same girl, she would pick me of course. Then one day, years later I’d call him up and ask if he’d be my best man at my wedding, he’d cry and cry and we’d bond over a few brews reminiscing of the old days and joke about how I’m giving up my freedom for my new ball n’chain that was my wife to-be. I’d get cold feet at the last minute but my best man would talk me through it, set me straight and drag me kicking and screaming down that isle if need be. He’d remind me that I love my fiancée and that I could do this, and I’d agree. I’d enjoy years of happiness with my wife and son until one day I find out that my wife had a affair with my best man on the day of the wedding and that my nine-year-old son isn’t even mine… Ah, the American-Dream.