A freckle-faced kid, incongruous in the city scene, dressed in ratty overalls and a faded, torn plaid shirt, holds a hand-made tree branch slingshot in his hand. He looks up, realizing he’s extended a silver-platter invitation to the wrath of the demonic dill.
It’s gone… withered away. It’s wrapped in its cocoon of new fashions at Back-To-School prices and freshly-minted textbooks. We used to bury it in old grocery bags, taping it to the books, so we could perform artistic resuscitation with Sharpies™ to disguise our 45-lb. Adventures in American History: The Insomniac’s Edition.
It’s a long-lost memory, now, […]