G. Walt McCool
I'm surprised that Max remembers the Icee story so vividly. But he's right. I threw an Icee - a peach Icee - on a kid who was riding a bike. Threw it right out the passenger window of that red Vega station wagon. And Max is right - again - his exact words were: "My god, Walter, I can't believe you just did that!" He was shocked - shocked to hear that there was Icee-throwing going on in St. Joe. In his car! I never worried about the patent cops. Not as long as I was riding in that speedster.
Why did I do it? I've often asked myself that. I would ask my step-kids why they think I did it, but somehow I never got around to sharing the story with them (I have to hold my tongue every time we go to 7-11). I think I did it because the kid was there. Or because I so desperately wanted Max to be proud of me. But it wasn't that incident that inevitably led me to be a lawyer. No, that came only after I renounced honest work. Of course, you know how to tell when a lawyer isn't telling you the truth - his lips are moving.
I could go on, but the thing about Steve kissing Max really got my attention. If we examine our feelings, I expect we all had a man-crush on him, but kissing him - no way. Not with that doughnut breath.