Poundjack

Being innocent is a tough thing to begin with. If you look to your right, there might be some kiddies sharing some cancer sticks that they managed to sneak into their backpacks or maybe if you look to the left, there might be some pretty lady being threatened by a hoodlum from the wrong side of the neighborhood. Being innocent in general isn't the the most pleasant experience.

First of all, you've got that invisible sign on you saying: "Hey, I'm a chap who doesn't know a thing or two about this rotten world!"
Second, there's always that kiddie who wants to burn that sign of yours for good and spit these nasty fizz at you.
Now, I have to tell you, I was pretty innocent too. But that was about a year and half's time ago. My older brother brought his buddy over to our house and boy, if you were there, you would hear the most god-awful things coming from his room.

Now, it was about the middle of my eighth grade school year. We had this new kid come here and because of him, it went bops.