The four of them rounded the last corner and began walking up the hill to the church. The street leading to the church was a dead end, a fact that always made Fiona smile. Whoever put the church there must have secretly agreed with her.
Walking up the hill, the church was to their right and across from it were the houses of Party Alley. Strep had called it that a few years back and the name had stuck. Party Alley houses were a raggedy bunch. Grass grew knee-high or didn’t grow at all and beer bottles littered the yards or piled up on the steps in front of screen doors that hung cockeyed from half-broken hinges. Even this late in the summer, even on a weeknight like this, the pulsing thrum of music and voices rose from the backyards. Fiona remembered walking to Sunday school and seeing more than one person laying in the deep grass, sleeping off their last night. Strep, in the semi-perverted manner of the teen-aged boy that he was,
|the true story|