https://blogs.baruch.cuny.edu/jl1a192010/2010/10/24/
Aleksey Trofimov
If you saw us at the age of seven, you would think that I and my crew was a bunch of pyromaniac kids from the wild. There were no limits; we lived on the streets more than we did at home. We made fires every night, made secret bases, and had wars with other kids from the neighborhood. Almost every day, our dinner was potatoes baked in a bun fire outside. Sometimes we even had lobsters, and once even a duck!
Every weekend I would go to the small stream about 2 miles away from me house and watch street races near a cargo airport. The road was smooth and perfect for racing, just about a quarter mile strip, wide enough to fit 6 cars. The races went on as usual, starting with bikes, then the local cars, then imports. I saw a police man shoo up and ask for some money, but the organizer of the event refused to give him any. Ten minutes later, the place was swarming with cops, arresting everyone they stumbled upon. My friends and I went down by the stream as if nothing happened, and just skip some rocks. As my friend tossed a rock, a group of ducklings and their mother were swimming by. The unfortunate Madre got hit in the head by the rock and flipped upside down in the water. We felt bad leaving the duck to just float down the stream so we took it with us. When we got back to the neighborhood, we feathered it, gutted it, and then washed it. That day we had a big feast, we baked many potatoes and then had a duck to top it all off. Now I realize that what we did was unsanitary to say the least, but it was the best tasting duck I’ve ever eaten!