Deviance Lies…
June 16, 2011 § 2 Comments
Lately I’m hanging out under pillows a lot more. Early in life I could only hope for such an eccentricity. My mother would say, You’re fine George. Not a thing wrong with you. So to convince her, I would hold my breath and kick and scream at the soda shoppe and in front of Hanks Seed and Feed. My mother would straighten her severe collar the one that made her look like her head was up on a grotesque creamy pike and she would pull my harness, the one she had specially made by the horse people. There were only one or two people who even looked at me sideways with my bowl cut and brown sack cloth, cuts healing on my face, or even freshly bleeding and yet not a glance! Made me think she shouldn’t have overreacted when I acted oddly childish or even peculiar.
I begged to go to a shrink. But she was right, I guess. I’m fine now. Made my own place in this world after all.
Bomb shelter?
Old farmhouse from 1890. this is possibly where they stuck their trash so critters didnt get it.