Today I biked home past a cemetery. Outside, a 1950 Schwinn bike was leaning against the oldest oak I could see. As I passed further on I could see just beyond the fence an old man strolling... past his friends? Past the past.
It's nine-o-clock at night, the neighbor's bonfire roars so loud I can hear the snaps in the furthest corner of my house. All the dogs in the neighborhood are on edge and sensitive to the slightest snap of a twig.
My wife comes home from chaperoning the football game with stories of mosquitoes and smelling of high school. ers.
"6 to 40, visitors" And I'm done for the night.
Friday, August 31, 2007
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