I was Kani, he was a great Twinkies King. This was my friend Torry. I remember the day we were caught in the back stair-well of the music room smoking by Mr. Johnson, our Shogun Richard Chamberlain look-a-like music teacher. We would cruise the Bremerton strip in a tiny car he had, mustering up $2.00 in gas and another .75cents for a pack of cigarettes. His family and I would sit in the log house on Willamette Road till the wee hours of the night playing Canasta. We went to Olympic College together and learned how to cook, we would sit in the dining room before classes talking over a cup of Stash flavored teas. When my daughter died, he was there. A friend in need. I will never forget when he took me to see Rocky Horror Picture Show. A paper bag loaded with News papers, squirt guns loaded with water, a loaf of bread and Bic lighters in hand. Torry taught me how to have fun and I enjoyed our friendship. The only thing I did not enjoy was the time we went to one of his friends apartments. It was on the second floor, we were drinking margaritas, and champagne. All I remember was that Torry and I were heaving our guts out off the second floor onto the cars parked below. I learned a big lesson that night.
Torry is a Christain comic now. Google his name and you will find lots.
