my friends are sometimes wrong
I ran into the back yard and crawled under the porch. I felt around under the couch cushions. I emptied the pockets of my backpack and pulled out the drawers of my desk. I fanned the pages of every book on my shelves. I went to the kitchen and looked inside the fridge. I opened the tops on all the jars, even the ones that we should have thrown out weeks ago. I rifled through the clothing in my closet. I dug up the time capsule that my fourth grade class buried for the year 2050. I went to the bank and asked for the key to my safety deposit box. I bought a shovel from home depot and spent the last four hours digging. But no matter how hard I looked, I couldn’t find a rave.