scrawled, no doubt with a stick when the rubble was still-drying, read "RL".

This drove me nuts when I was eight. I am "RL." Had someone been trying to discredit me? Was there perhaps some other "RL" out there (Robbie Logan? Roger Lowell?) who had marked the setting curb mere moments after civic engineers, settled with their flawless work, drove off in one of those funny utility vans? Didn't they realize what a precious commodity the reputation associated with these initials was?

What kind of person writes their initials in drying concrete?

Might I do it? Why? Why not? Is it possible that I had in fact done the dirty deed as a still-smaller child and had merely forgotten? The scribbling slant to the letters did look decidedly familiar...

I'll bet they're still there. Northeast corner of the intersection one block east of the IGA at Dunbar and 41st avenue, avatar of perhaps the closest thing to the neurosis of the tell-tale heart in my extensive list of psychological curiosities. I can never know for certain whether I did or not, so which of my own present actions can be considered any more concrete?

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