I was reminiscing with my friend — an old friend — from back when the 70s weren’t polyester nostalgic, but a flesh and blood, corduroy reality. We were kids back then, looking in amazement toward the fall when we would be juniors in high school. That summer night a zillion years ago, I hopped on my Schwinn 10-speed and rode back to my safe, secure home. She walked back into her hell at the house on the corner.
My grandfather had a lifelong love of hardware stores. For my parent’s Silver Anniversary, he bought them a whole bag full of things from the local store; silver nails, a silver hammer, a screw driver. I think there may have even been some saw blades in there too. He was a curious ol’ chap.
I received a letter in the mail, not long ago, from a major University located in Wayne County, Michigan. I don’t want to name them, but I think they’re the biggest school in the county. They’re named after Major-General “Mad” Anthony Wayne. They asked me how my prostate was doing.