I perhaps grade 3, I somehow got into my head that bursting juice boxes was cool. It made a very loud satisfying noise, and if it was full, you could spray whatever flavor the box was halfway across the school yard.
Even into our twenties, Spike continued to bring up the juice box, and how he was afraid of me at the time, so he just let me take it and stomp on it. He insisted it was his favorite flavor too, though right now I can’t recall what exactly it was. I want to say pineapple.
Of course, Spike would later sleep with my girlfriend, after which he no doubt felt way too much shame to bring up the juice box again.
Well, maybe it’s not shame. Maybe he just forgot. He does smoke a lot of weed…