My neighbor Danny’s front yard isn’t that big, maybe a thousand square feet, but every night dozens of kids manage to squeeze onto it. Guitar strummers, recorder tooters, cigarette bummers, portrait-sketchers, frisbee tossers, Screaming Yellow Zonkers eaters, dueling radio owners, horny lover gropers.
Category: Memoirs
My First Diaphragm
August 30, 1968, 5:00 PM
This week doesn’t start out so lucky. But it sure ends that way.
I meet PK.
