Don’t know how I survived Camp Prison-Shit. If not for Jon and his dog, Lucas, I’d have been dead. Of course, slipping into a coma helped.
Now, Camp Prison-Shit wasn’t its real name, not by any means. But it might as well have been, for the sleepaway camp was a magnet for misfits, losers, miscreants, wise guys and clowns. I’m still trying to figure out which category I fit in. Continue reading