Necessary to a happy childhood.
I had plenty. It was always so
dry (the
desert itself was in the
throes of drought). The grass was
tough and yellow; it hurt me to walk around
barefoot. I did occasionally, and everytime was
stung.
It was wet enough out to find
pollywogs in ditches and puddles, and wet enough to know the
sweet sting of chlorine in my nose.
There was an
empty lot next to my house; literal-minded as we were, we called it the
Dirt Hills. A good half-acre of
dusty bike trails and
sagebrush;
this is where all the shit went down.
Cat fights, involving both human and feline species.
I saw the neighborhood bully spit tobacco into the dirt; at the time, I didn't know what he was doing. I murdered
stinkbugs, rather cruelly, yes.
Built snowforts, weather permitting.
I sang,
"
Nobody likes me
Everybody hates me
Think I'll go eat worms."
This is where Brandon hit my ass with a
stick he found.