Only bleached cherry pits under foot and a bright yellow bus and a dad in a rain slicker walking his bike up the sidewalk. Only kids on the playground playing tag and a girl with jet black hair screaming a warning call with all she’s got. Only three-year-olds...
I nearly forget the lines of that house that carries my memory to one hundred years of solitude (that soul-stirring book), so grand and deep tired with its loose roof tiles and sagging porch. And I’m forgetting those other decomposing things in our neighborhood....
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