I grew up on the outskirts of Tallahassee, riding hot school buses out into the timber tracts that surround the Capitol City. We were a low-income, transient family, frequently moving in the middle of the night to avoid debt collectors, both legal and illegal. Though I’ve been away for the last 35 years, making may way North, beyond the Gnat Line. I recall my time in the Sunshine State fondly, even if my upbringing was less than ideal. While chatting with my Pocket Friends today, I recalled this snippet from a Sunny Saturday back in 1990. For those who lived in the area at the time, perhaps it will jostle some long-stored memories in your own mind.

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So one Saturday, when I was around 9, I spent a Saturday afternoon with my stepdad’s bandmate & drummer, “Dave.” Dave was a guy with a wide brown mustache, a matching mullet, and tinted Rx glasses. He was going through a tough divorce. He missed his kids: a younger daughter, and a son, a year older than me, who could’ve passed as my twin at the time.

So my stepdad pawned me off to Dave for a Saturday hangout to help Dave cope. He was going through a tough time emotionally due to the separation from his family. He was a really nice dude. My mom explained that I was a sort of stand-in for his son because he didn’t have visitation rights at the time.

So, Dave picked me up in his rust-red Ford Pinto with no AC and a fuel leak. We drove across Tallahassee to the more commercial side. He took me to Godfather’s Pizza for lunch (my first time). Dave let me pick whatever I wanted while he ordered a loaded deep-dish pizza. We had plenty of leftovers, which we boxed up and placed in the hot floorboard of Dave’s Pinto.

Next, Dave took me to see a matinee showing of Total Recall at the movie theater. This was another first for me, as I didn’t know what “matinee” meant beforehand, and I had never even seen two, let alone THREE big ol’ Mommy Milkers on the big screen. Total Recall was an eye-opening experience, as it was my first exposure to dystopian sci-fi storytelling, and, well, those triple-threat nip-nops were lodged in my memory for some time afterward.

After the movie, we walked back to Dave’s Pinto in the parking lot to find a freeway of ants leading up the front passenger tire and into his car. They’d found the leftover Godfather’s pizza in his floorboard.

Dave grabbed the pizza boxes and tossed them onto the hot Florida asphalt, and started stomping the pizza boxes while letting out a tirade of new expletives in combinations, once again, that were wholly new to my inexperienced ears. Dave grabbed an old, gasoline-soaked rag from the trunk and wiped down the inside of the car before giving me the all-clear to hop in.

I’ll never forget the smell of that hot asphalt, heavy red pizza sauce, and raw fuel from his leaking Pinto. This was also the day I learned gasoline killed ants.

The ride back to my house was pretty quiet, aside from listening to RUSH while Dave drummed along on his steering wheel and dash, explained why Neil Peart was the greatest drummer of all time.