Man I don't even know what this gosh dang Fort Night is. Some kind of video game. I remember when we used to build REAL forts, out of wood, and sticks. And they'd fall apart because Joey didn't know how to lash poles together. Good old Joey, I tell you, always knew his way around a pole. We'd go out there and say, "Joey, find your way around this pole!" And by golly he'd get all the way around that pole. And then he'd go again, and then again, and then he'd up and disappear, because he knew ways around poles that none of us knew. Poor old Joey, got himself lost one time and ended up in Athabasca. Or that's what he said, at least, but he had a piña colada in his hand when he got back. Son of a gun never gave us any. Stingy old Joey, never lent us a dime or even a nickle. It was always quarters, and we'd say, "dammit, Joey, you know none of us can make change for a quarter!" But that's all he had. He had handfuls of them. He used to toss them to the ducks and the ducks would eat them. And then they'd get heavy and sink to the bottom of the pond. And then the next day the pond would have a lot more frogs than usual. His mother tried to get him to stop tossing quarters to the ducks but she could never figure out where Joey got them. Poor Mrs. McGilligan, never had a child but Joey, never had a man but Mister McGilligan, and neither she nor we ever learned his name because he was there but a single evening, and then disappeared forever. Must have got lost trying to find his way around a pole. But my aunt Maisy moved in with Mrs. McGilligan and raised Joey, and then SHE disappeared and we decided to see what was up, so we crept into the house, and it was full of poles. And we crept our way around the poles, and one by one we were all lost, until it was only me and Joey, and Joey wouldn't say where anyone had gone. Rat bastard.