A story for Funnyjunk

I think Pokemon fans will like what I got to say. Among many other good comics and nevertheless many good reposts, this will definitely join the rest of the newest uploads into grey oblivion. However, maybe because you like Pikachu, maybe because you like getting stoned, or maybe because you simply like reading or scrolling down to type "tl;dr", i think you might enjoy this little story of mine.
It's pretty long.

The story of how I taught everybody about Pokemon takes place where Pokemon aren't at all famous. No, this does'nt happen in Rwanda or on the Jersey Shore set, it happens in my hometown of Issy-les-Moulineaux, a banlieue next to Paris. I still live there, and every morning I take the metro to go work in the capital, the only real frontier between the two being that my town is incredibly grey and morose.
It happense when I'm still a teenager, and still living within the care of my great helper the Republic of France. I use to live in an orphanage, or nowadays, a "home". Actually, when you think about it, whereas many kids resented this official appellation, I rather liked it. It was the place I had all of my friends, where my guardian was practically my father, and where most of all I had lived since I was a small kid. Think of it as a big grey building with a dark bushy garden in the center which served as a view for all balconies and windows. The building slithered around the square, open-aired garden, leaving two small gated exits from one side to another. Everyday first thing in the morning when I woke up I would peer out the window and see who was already outside down in the garden, or on the other side of the building opening their own window. I never actually realized how it was charming. The atmosphere, however, was not.
If the home was in an okay district, nearly all the kids were punks and hood rats. You'd have about eight out of ten teenage boys dreaming of making it as a rapper, tagging their verses on walls and in the bathrooms, the other two just sticking to having a good time and occasionally breaking out a fight. The girls were circulating trashy clothes and make-up like candy at Halloween, already talking about keeping and stealing their 'chum'. Some of us had jobs, but it never taught us anything, except we could get pocket-money and be barely able to spend it. At the end of the day, 'troublesome' became a fairly bland word.

My profile for the rest.