Seems to me, I vaguely recall the many a baseball lost. Nor the myriad of evenings sent to my room without supper (for provoking the Denim's dog.) Memory eludes the times... ...$.25 for a gander at Becky Denim sunbathing. Over the years I rekon I lost track. The multitude of hours. Depicting commando units infiltrating the enemy's fortress. The annual autumn feud between my old man and old man Denim over "whose leaves they really were". Huh. Funny how I call to mind - the evening the Sheriff escorted Mr. Denim away... The other side of the fence was never the same.
Reason for writing:
a trip through the neighborhood where I grew up...
Birth sign: Leo
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