We first saw the homeless man while stopped at an intersection on the way to Waffle House. Chet and Tadd\u2014two of McCoy\u2019s fraternity brothers\u2014sat in the bed of the truck, already buzzed and anxious to officially start the bachelor weekend festivities.<\/p>\n
\u201cChet\u2019s got a history with this sort of thing,\u201d McCoy said.<\/p>\n
\u201cWith what?\u201d I asked. \u201cPeople with cardboard signs?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe comes across as a dick, but he\u2019s a good dude, deep down.\u201d<\/p>\n
McCoy rolled down his window, one hand on the steering wheel. He\u2019d taken off his shirt for the drive, his skin pasty-white. I could still see the scar on his chest from when we\u2019d jumped a fence in middle school.<\/p>\n
I watched the traffic light, hoping it would turn. I\u2019d never given money to people on the side of the road, though not from lack of sympathy. Instead, I bought them meals or dropped off sandwiches, knowing money often went to other, less nutritional stuff.<\/p>\n
\u201cTwenty bucks says you\u2019re not really homeless,\u201d Chet said.<\/p>\n
The man turned and smiled, which was an odd response, especially since it seemed genuine. The man didn\u2019t have a beard, and his hair was cropped short and presentable. He wore faded blue jeans, rolled near his ankles. And I figured these were often the people who needed help the most\u2014people who hoped a clean appearance would encourage someone to stop. The scammers pushed the boundary between needy and offensive, dirtying their clothes after nights in motels, ruffling their hair, walking with fake limps. This guy did none of that.<\/p>\n
\u201cTwenty bucks, huh?\u201d the man said.<\/p>\n
\u201cSure, you could buy a big bottle of gin with that,\u201d Chet said.<\/p>\n
Tadd laughed in the truck bed, a booming laugh that rippled his muscles. He was shirtless and tan, a vein running across one shoulder. He finished another beer and then dropped the empty can in the corner of the truck bed. I was too embarrassed to say anything. I looked over to McCoy, hoping he\u2019d tell his friends to leave the homeless man alone. But he didn\u2019t.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou know, son,\u201d the man said. \u201cThere\u2019s a difference between sign-flying and homelessness.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know that very well,\u201d Chet said.<\/p>\n
The man leaned on the edge of the truck. \u201cLet me guess why you\u2019re so cynical,\u201d he said. \u201cYou helped a sign-flyer once, maybe bought him food\u2014maybe for a few weeks in a row?\u2014and then one day you found out where he lived. A nice, two-story house.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOne story,\u201d Chet said. \u201cWith a nice SUV parked out front. Maybe you\u2019re friends with him? Used to work the intersection at Rocky Road and Forest Lawn, near downtown Spartanburg.\u201d<\/p>\n
The man laughed. \u201cIt\u2019ll happen, kid. Where you boys headed?\u201d<\/p>\n
The light turned green, and Tadd tossed an unopened beer to the man, who caught it and waved, looking amused. It bothered me leaving him there\u2014I didn\u2019t know at the time we\u2019d see him on the beach a few hours later\u2014but I didn\u2019t mention anything to McCoy. We\u2019d quit talking about stuff like that. We\u2019d quit talking about most things after he\u2019d left for Clemson, leaving me to study humanities at UNC-Greensboro while he pursued marketing and joined a fraternity at a college in a different state.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I\u2019d arrived after a five-hour drive from Greensboro, while McCoy, Chet, and Tadd had ridden together from Clemson. There was another groomsman for the wedding\u2014another of<\/p>\n
McCoy\u2019s fraternity brothers\u2014but he couldn\u2019t make the beach trip. Which meant it was just me McCoy, Chet, and Tadd for the weekend.<\/p>\n
After Waffle House, and after a couple of games of beer pong on the beach, I loosened up, thinking maybe the weekend would be fun, after all. I\u2019d even taken off my shirt, though I tried to make my chest look less doughy by hunching forward. I missed another shot after a gust of wind pushed the ping pong ball a few feet toward the ocean.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou don\u2019t play much beer pong at Greensboro, do you?\u201d McCoy asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cNot much.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLoser pays for the hooker,\u201d Tadd said.<\/p>\n
I looked at McCoy. \u201cYou\u2019re hiring a hooker?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019s joking,\u201d McCoy said. \u201cDon\u2019t worry.\u201d His smile was generous then, and I wanted to feel for him what we\u2019d felt for each other in middle school\u2014best friends who grew up together, who kept each other company at recess and shared bottles of deodorant in the bathroom to mask the smell of pubescent sweat. There on the beach, it almost felt like the old days again.<\/p>\n
\u201cWatch this,\u201d McCoy said. \u201cTadd\u2019s going to get pissed.\u201d And then he threw the ping pong ball toward our hotel on the other side of the dunes, high, high, high, and the wind brought it back and splashed it down in the middle of the triangle of beer-filled solo cups with a satisfying whoosh.<\/p>\n
Tadd lost it. \u201cWhat the fuck.\u201d He kicked the nearest leg of the table, and the wood snapped and sent all the cups splashing onto the sand. I jumped out of the way. But apparently this was normal\u2014neither Chet nor McCoy seemed concerned. \u201cGod, what a shot,\u201d Tadd said, now laughing.<\/p>\n
I wondered if this was what their fraternity parties were like: drinking and joking about hookers and smashing things and laughing about it. When I\u2019d met Tadd for the first time, during Fall Break our sophomore year, as soon as I mentioned I\u2019d joined a service fraternity, he laughed, saying those weren\u2019t real fraternities since they didn\u2019t have houses and didn\u2019t host parties. And then minutes later, he bragged about the thirty-eight-year-old mom he\u2019d had sex with the other night.<\/p>\n
\u201cNice work,\u201d Chet said. \u201cYou just broke our table.\u201d His voice whipped through the air. \u201cWait a second,\u201d he said. \u201cLook by the water.\u201d<\/p>\n
The man waved and walked toward us, climbing the small hill marking the high tide line. He seemed so comfortable on the beach, walking toward us, so calm and at peace. If I hadn\u2019t seen him with a cardboard sign a few hours ago, I wouldn\u2019t have suspected him of being anything but a guy taking a walk on the beach\u2014though his jeans were a little out of place for the middle of the day.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019re you doing here?\u201d Chet asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat are you doing here?\u201d the man said.<\/p>\n
\u201cI asked you a goddam question.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cEasy, Chet,\u201d McCoy said.<\/p>\n
We were all buzzed at this point.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m just saying hello,\u201d the man said. \u201cIt\u2019s a public beach.\u201d<\/p>\n
Desperation could drive people to do things they otherwise wouldn\u2019t. Not everybody understood that. The man on the beach looked down, kicking sand. I\u2019d taken a psychology class and knew trauma victims often erected barriers to give the appearance of control. I found my shirt and put it back on before talking to him.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you need help?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cNah, I just sit around with a cardboard sign for enjoyment.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI gave you a beer,\u201d Tadd said.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou did, thank you. It was hot out there today. You boys playing a drinking game?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBeer pong,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
Chet looked at me as if to ask: Whose side are you on, Lawrence?<\/p>\n
The man studied our broken table, one hand cupping his chin. I wondered what circumstances had brought him to resorting to a cardboard sign for help. I imagined his lifestyle: choosing a location for the day, fighting for a spot on the sidewalk. Maybe sometimes he broke away for a walk on the beach to clear his mind.<\/p>\n
\u201cLooks like your table\u2019s broken,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cJesus,\u201d Chet said. \u201cIs this why you\u2019re living on the street? Because of your incredible insight?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLiving on the street?\u201d The man coiled back. \u201cLike I said, kid, there\u2019s a difference between sign-flying and living on the street.\u201d<\/p>\n
The man slipped his backpack from his shoulders and unzipped one of the pockets. My first thought was a gun. Now a senior, and a month from graduating, I wasn\u2019t na\u00efve about people\u2019s desperation. I wanted to help\u2014and for the most part I believed in good intentions\u2014but outcasts of society didn\u2019t always follow society\u2019s rules. The man pulled out a roll of duct tape, though, and while he fitted the two broken pieces of the table\u2019s legs together, McCoy looked at me and shrugged.<\/p>\n
\u201cWho carries duct tape around?\u201d Chet asked. But his voice wasn\u2019t as angry or skeptical as before. For the first time in the presence of this man, he seemed to relax.<\/p>\n
The man smiled. \u201cWant to hear a story? I have a house\u2014not much of one, not nice, you see\u2014but my wife won\u2019t let me inside. Every time I try, she pumps a shotgun from the kitchen window. Going on three weeks now. And don\u2019t ask me how she got the gun. Twelve years of marriage, and I\u2019ve never seen it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou don\u2019t have friends you could stay with?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
This was what most of us from private-school backgrounds didn\u2019t understand: What if you lost your job without any family or friends to offer you a couch? What if medical bills drowned you out of your apartment? Our support systems were like underground anthills, complex and deep. Somebody would help us if enough bad luck came our way. But the same wasn\u2019t true for everybody.<\/p>\n
\u201cAfter twelve years of marriage,\u201d the man said, \u201cyou lose touch with all your friends.\u201d He put an arm around McCoy. \u201cI\u2019ll give you some advice. Don\u2019t every get married.\u201d<\/p>\n
McCoy pushed him off. \u201cAnd I\u2019ll give you some advice. Don\u2019t ever touch me again.\u201d<\/p>\n
It was like the wind changed directions\u2014the sense of peace disrupted\u2014and Chet and Tadd stood beside their fraternity brother, taller now, it seemed. And I imagined them at a bar at Clemson, ready to defend each other with bloody fists at the slightest threat. I didn\u2019t have those kinds of friendships with my service fraternity brothers and sisters back in Greensboro, living at home with my parents. McCoy had been the closest thing to my brother, years ago.<\/p>\n
\u201cOkay, okay, I\u2019m sorry,\u201d the man said. And then he zipped his backpack and walked away with the same calmness with which he\u2019d arrived, disappearing among all the vacationers on the beach\u2014but not before walking to the edge of the water and allowing the waves to lap at his feet, each one cresting just above his ankles, almost reaching the roll of his jeans.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Despite the heat of late spring, the other guys changed into starched button-down shirts with khaki pants\u2014their hair lightly gelled and pushed in the same direction\u2014while I wore shorts and a black T-shirt I\u2019d strategically chosen. I\u2019d never considered myself fat, but being around McCoy and his friends, their muscled bodies, made me more self-conscious than usual. We were sitting in the hotel room now, sipping Red Bulls, fighting the beer-induced sleepiness from a day on the beach. The energy drinks reminded me of middle-school evenings with McCoy, when we pretended to be WWE wrestlers after clearing a ring in my living room. Back then, McCoy would\u2019ve flinched at the idea of going to a strip club, but now, around his fraternity brothers, the idea didn\u2019t faze him.<\/p>\n
I pushed aside one of the curtains to look at the ocean. I hadn\u2019t been to the beach in over a year, and after losing countless games of beer pong, I was drunk enough to speak my mind. The shower didn\u2019t do much to sober me up. \u201cThis hotel\u2019s great,\u201d I said. \u201cLook at the colors from the sunset.\u201d McCoy and I had been to Myrtle together before, but years ago, back when we would play putt-putt with his parents.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat? It\u2019s not like Myrtle\u2019s anything to look at,\u201d Chet said. He settled into one of the beds, next to Tadd\u2019s suitcase. I was still waiting for him to grow on me like McCoy had promised.<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t get comfortable there,\u201d Tadd said.<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah, right,\u201d Chet said. \u201cI\u2019ll bet you twenty bucks you won\u2019t get laid tonight.\u201d<\/p>\n
My buzz had lifted a weight from my shoulders, like someone had loosened my shackles underwater, leaving me to float to the surface. It wasn\u2019t hard to see why people on the streets sought refuge in alcohol.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat are we doing for dinner?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cPizza,\u201d McCoy said.<\/p>\n
After Friday night football games in high school, we went to Cici\u2019s for the buffet and competed for the most slices eaten. I didn\u2019t know who had changed more since then, me or McCoy. If we went now and tried to compete, I\u2019d probably complain about us wasting food instead of donating it to the men\u2019s shelter, and McCoy would probably roll his eyes after his second slice, already bored.<\/p>\n
In truth, he\u2019d surprised me by asking me to be a groomsman. I\u2019d expected a wedding invite\u2014and maybe even a request to usher\u2014but I wondered if his parents had encouraged the groomsman thing, trying to get our friendship back together. I\u2019d never even met his fianc\u00e9e, only knew her first name\u2014Iris\u2014and that he\u2019d proposed six months into their relationship.<\/p>\n
Chet tapped his almost-empty Red Bull against the dresser, and each clink reminded me of how quiet the room remained if nobody talked. \u201cReally? That\u2019s it?\u201d he said. \u201cIt\u2019s your big bachelor party dinner, and you want pizza?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s what he said, isn\u2019t it?\u201d<\/p>\n
Chet and Tadd looked at me as if my voice had startled them, as if I were a stuffed animal who wasn\u2019t supposed to speak.<\/p>\n
\u201cWho the fuck you think you are?\u201d Chet said. \u201cMaybe we should all hold hands in a circle on the beach and talk about the injustices of an unregulated economy.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCome on, guys,\u201d McCoy said, clapping his hands. \u201cWe\u2019re not talking about the economy tonight. I want to laugh at my bachelor party.\u201d And then he went into story mode, sanding away the tension. \u201cRemember that lineup we had freshman year? When all the older brothers got drunk?\u201d He turned to me. \u201cI was the pledge class president, and the upperclassmen were real drunk that night. One of the seniors decided\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, this story,\u201d Chet said, leaning forward, excited.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis senior decided I needed to learn responsibility for my pledge brothers,\u201d McCoy said, \u201cand he handed me the water bottle he\u2019d been using as his spitter all night. I\u2019m telling you, it was at least half full. I can still see that tobacco spit\u2014darker than mud. Anyway, he said if I didn\u2019t finish it, then all nine of us would get our own bottles to chug.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s disgusting,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut Chet here didn\u2019t hesitate. He was standing beside me on the wall, and he grabbed the bottle from the senior\u2019s hand, called him an idiot, and chugged the whole damn thing without thinking.\u201d<\/p>\n
Their laughter filled the hotel room. It didn\u2019t seem all that funny, but I broke a smile to fit in, remembering the conversation while we were home on break after our freshman year, the one that revealed the growing gap between our outlooks on life. McCoy believed a good person enjoyed the gift of life by laughing among friends and finding happiness. \u201cThere\u2019s more than just that,\u201d I\u2019d said. But he shrugged. And then we\u2019d spiraled against each other, with me arguing for the importance of recognizing the suffering around us and helping those who can\u2019t meet their basic human needs, and he coming back with quips like, \u201cWhat\u2019s the point if nobody\u2019s happy?\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I lost count: a couple of beers at the pizza place, a few at the first bar, a few at the second bar, a Fireball shot\u2014maybe two?\u2014and then onto a round at the strip club\u2014all after playing beer pong on the beach all day. I\u2019d imagined a strip club as a place where dancers resembled NFL cheerleaders, wearing the same, bright smiles and personalities. But there was no joy here\u2014not even faked\u2014only desperation. The girls looked trapped, like single mothers who could only afford their electricity bills by entertaining the tourist men who visited the Dirty Myrtle. The atmosphere twisted my mood into such a dark maze.<\/p>\n
\u201cGod, this place sucks,\u201d Tadd said. \u201cJust as shitty as the one in Seneca. Look at this. What kind of strip club has benches?\u201d He lifted one with a single hand, his veiny arm filling with blood. To my surprise, the bench moved.<\/p>\n
I was ready to go home. Not just to the hotel room, but home. Flashes of blue light carved triangles onto the otherwise dark stage. At one of the bars earlier, I\u2019d tried asking McCoy about Iris, but Tadd had interrupted and said it was a bachelor party, not a slumber party. And Chet had given me a look suggesting it was pathetic I didn\u2019t know more about her. When they asked what I did on the weekends, I\u2019d lied. \u201cHouse parties, bars\u2014you know, the usual.\u201d In truth, most weekends in Greensboro I stayed home, ate dinner with my parents Friday nights, went to the youth-inspired Saturday evening church services, maybe volunteered with Habitat for Humanity on Sundays along with some of the folks from my service fraternity. We\u2019d once organized a mission trip to Jacksonville.<\/p>\n
\u201cDude, you okay?\u201d McCoy asked, touching my shoulder. \u201cThanks for coming.\u201d He looked happier than I\u2019d ever seen him\u2014loose and carefree\u2014and after all, it was his bachelor party, and he deserved to have a good time. Wasn\u2019t that the whole point of the weekend?<\/p>\n
\u201cI was just thinking,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s what\u2019s always gotten you in trouble,\u201d McCoy said. \u201cAll that thinking makes you depressed. Come on. Watch the strippers. Finish that beer.\u201d<\/p>\n
I lifted the bottle to my lips and swallowed big gulps. Once finished, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, letting out a deep sigh as if the entire night had left me nothing but satisfied. And for a moment, I almost believed it. I could be one of them, hiding within privilege, no longer apologizing during prayer for my inadequacies when it came to solving the world\u2019s problems\u2014no longer feeling morally compromised for being in a strip club.<\/p>\n
McCoy wrapped his arm around me, laughing. \u201cNow, don\u2019t you feel better?\u201d<\/p>\n
Despite the warnings from a few of my service fraternity friends about not succumbing to the temptations of a bachelor party\u2014about staying true to what mattered most in my life\u2014I went to the bar for another drink.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Chet pointed between the legs of a stripper as if to say I got you. \u201cWhat\u2019d I tell you?\u201d he said. \u201cLook who\u2019s over there. Look who\u2019s fucking over there.\u201d The homeless man waved at us. He still wore rolled jeans and a plain white T-shirt. And he still looked clean, though no longer himself, no longer sane\u2014possessed, almost, like a puppet dangling from strings.<\/p>\n
\u201cProbably tripping acid,\u201d Tadd said.<\/p>\n
\u201cMaybe he\u2019s just looking for an escape,\u201d I said. A mindless comment, more like small talk. I didn\u2019t care much about anything anymore. For the last fifteen minutes, all I could think about were chicken quesadillas from Cookout and trying to keep the room from spinning.<\/p>\n
\u201cJesus Christ,\u201d Chet said, his bushy eyebrows coming alive with anger. \u201cYou\u2019re like a goddam tape recorder. Look at him! He\u2019s falling over himself! Why are you still sticking up for him? How would you feel knowing that asshole spent your money on drugs and strippers?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHuh?\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cLaughter,\u201d McCoy said, slapping our backs. \u201cI want laughter.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHold on,\u201d Chet said. \u201cIs your compassion practical? Does it solve problems? Does it actually make the world a better place\u2014or does it make it easier for outliers to cheat the system?\u201d With each question, he slammed his fist into his open palm harder. He was the most coherent drunk I\u2019d ever seen. \u201cI mean, look at this guy,\u201d he said. \u201cHere\u2019s your proof. And oh\u2014great\u2014look at this: he\u2019s coming over. Maybe you can give him another beer, Tadd? No doubt that\u2019s what he wants.\u201d<\/p>\n
The man stumbled through the club, trying to steady himself. He stood beside Tadd and resumed an apparent conversation with the ceiling: \u201c\u2014before that,\u201d the man said, \u201cyears before, I was a drummer, and when my wife married me, she thought I\u2019d become a star.\u201d He bit a knuckle. \u201cYou ever heard of the band Mismatched? Well, maybe not, but they were mine. We had a big hit back in 1994. Remember the song \u2018Burning Water?\u2019 Summer of 1994. You have any idea what\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWho the fuck are you talking to?\u201d Chet asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cJesus,\u201d the man said. \u201cJesus, look who I found. Friends.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNot friends,\u201d McCoy said. \u201cWhat\u2019re you doing here?\u201d<\/p>\n
The man\u2019s nose reached the height of McCoy\u2019s collar. \u201cI come here often, pretty boy.\u201d He poked a finger into McCoy\u2019s shoulder. \u201cWhat are you doing here?\u201d<\/p>\n
And then Tadd was on him all of a sudden, behind him, choking him with one of his veiny arms, and the man gasped from surprise, swinging pathetically like a suffocated doll. Tadd kept his arm tight around the man\u2019s neck, exchanging glances with Chet and McCoy. Neither had moved. Whose side are you on, Lawrence? Maybe Chet\u2019s voice? Or McCoy\u2019s? Or maybe I was making it up? The room was spinning now. I looked at the man. My empathy turned into anger. Something snapped. I forgot who I was\u2014and there was so much energy associated with the release. Give me another drink, one more, and I\u2019d smash this guy\u2019s jaw if he touched McCoy again. And I\u2019d never even been in a fist fight before. I\u2019d believed this guy\u2019s stories and smiles and cardboard signs, all with good faith\u2014and here he was, at a strip club, rewarding me with\u2014what? This? He\u2019s the reason people don\u2019t care, I thought. He\u2019s the excuse people use to ignore everyone who actually needs help.<\/p>\n
Whose side are you on, Lawrence?<\/p>\n
I dropped to the floor dry heaving, which soon turned into vomiting. The music still played, the lights remained dark, but a small circle had formed around us, and as one of the bouncers approached, the homeless man escaped from Tadd\u2019s grasp and ran away, even more jittery than before, but apparently unharmed.<\/p>\n
\u201cDammit, Lawrence,\u201d Chet said. \u201cThe fuck\u2019s wrong with you?\u201d He turned to talk to the bouncer, skilled, apparently, at negotiating damage control, and after a little back and forth\u2014during which I threw up again\u2014Chet knelt beside me. \u201cCome on,\u201d he said, with surprising tenderness. \u201cLet\u2019s clean up the puke and go. Either that, or he\u2019s going to call the cops.\u201d<\/p>\n
I kept apologizing. Chet said not to worry about it. Tadd laughed, looking like he wanted to give me a high five. It was McCoy who stared at me as if I should keep apologizing, as if I should be ashamed for ruining his night and getting us kicked out. I was about to stand up for you, I thought. I would\u2019ve punched him for you. But I knew, then, our friendship would never be the same. Too much time had passed between middle school and now. Nothing could bandage the gap between us.<\/p>\n
Later, I would realize asking me to be a groomsman was nothing more than a nice gesture, a nod to the friendship we once had. We would wake in the morning and complain about headaches, and after piecing together the scattered memories of the night, I would blush from the shame of throwing up in a strip club and leave as soon as possible, as if enough space would help me forget.<\/p>\n
But for now, after arriving back at the hotel, I opened the curtains to watch the moon over the ocean, hiccupping, thinking about the strip club, all the men gathered around a stage to whistle at women who looked as if taking off their bras was secretly the last thing in the world they wanted to do. If I ever had enough money, I\u2019d buy the building and burn it down and give each of the women a few thousand dollars to leave and never come back.<\/p>\n
Tadd and Chet crawled into the other bed, leaving the space beside McCoy for me.<\/p>\n
\u201cLook at this moon,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
But McCoy had already closed his eyes, cocooned in his world, passed out for the night. We slept with our backs to each other, the way two strangers do when they find themselves sharing a mattress: with a line of pillows between us, right down the middle, separating one side from the other.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
We first saw the homeless man while stopped at an intersection on the way to Waffle House. Chet and Tadd\u2014two of McCoy\u2019s fraternity brothers\u2014sat in the bed of the truck, already buzzed and anxious to officially start the bachelor weekend festivities. \u201cChet\u2019s got a history with this sort of thing,\u201d McCoy said. \u201cWith what?\u201d I […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":14931,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[1750,953,1751,764,502,1752],"class_list":["post-14840","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","tag-bachelor-party","tag-college","tag-fraternity","tag-friendship","tag-homelessness","tag-strip-club","writer-nicholas-a-white"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14840","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=14840"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14840\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":14932,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14840\/revisions\/14932"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/14931"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=14840"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=14840"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=14840"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}