May 22, 2018
5 min read
The Groping And The Boy Across The Hall
(Originally published on ChicagoNow, October 12, 2016)
The year was 1986. I was 18 years old, a senior in high school, on spring break with 10 of my friends.
It happened sometime between 5 and 9 pm.
Our Fort Lauderdale hotel was cheap, filled with other spring breakers just like us, room after room of young, hormonal bodies. We’d pooled our hard-earned money for a travel agent to book this place, situated between the ocean and the strip. The place was disgusting and we were in heaven.
