We'd hide the cigarettes in our socks and walk to the football game. Acting like our parents didn't have a clue what little hoodlums we were.
We'd kick the leaves into piles as we went, in the early dark, to walk the cinder track that surrounded the field.
Families and our fellow students in the stands, cheering. Jocks on the field, playing their hearts out. And us, the ne'er-do-wells, strolling along the cinder track, smoking Old Gold Filtereds. Looking at the cheerleaders. One of 'em might have an eye for the wild boys.
Hot boxed smokes.