.....because the "kid with imaginary monster friends" that remains inside of me is officially excited.
And yes, I did, in fact, have imaginary monster friends. Even had a grade-school-aged ghost friend named Tim, who burned to death in this creepy-looking house that rested on the hill behind this complex of baseball fields, where my Little League career transpired. He'd do mundane shit like play Lite-Brite and watch Yo! MTV Raps with me. Burnt skin, lacerations, charcoal dust dandruff and all. A true friend, to the end.
What's good, Tim?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
.jpeg)
No comments:
Post a Comment