Steve's nickname was 'Kushie'. Those who knew him know why, and I am not going to explain it here.
He lived across the hall from me my freshman year with his room mate and best friend from high school, Peter.
He banged up the door to his '74 Impala, so he says, "wanna go to a junkyard in B'ville and get me a new one?" I says OK.
We get to the head of 481 at the bottom of Fulton and passing us is a nice looking lady driving a similar heap. I see she has a sticker on the bumper that says 'Oswego' so I tell Steve to pull up next to her. Quickly, I scribble my address (254 Cayuga) on a piece of paper and hold it up. She smiles as we pass, and starts laughing. Steve and I argue over who she was hot for.
A week later there is a personal in the school paper: "To the guys in Cayuga hall who passed me on 481. The driver was cute but the passenger was cuter. When can we meet?" We never did meet.
Yet another story of how Paul coulda hooked up and didn't. Man was my hair long then, too.
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