Camping in The Summer of 1984

The hand on the back of my neck had an iron grip, and judging by the tone of the man it belonged to, he was pissed as he practically carried me across the bath house at Brown Tract Pond to the row of toilet stalls.

After being dragged to the last stall, which was a handicapped stall with plenty of room, I got spun around and practically thrown against the side wall while the man with the iron grip locked the door behind us.

I was going to die, or at best get the shi

camping the summer 1984

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