It's a weird night
Tonight I drove around my town. I looked at all the places I used to go when I was in grade school. My friends and I used to go out a lot, we'd find places no one knew existed. I remember some of our places. A pond in the middle of nowhere, filled with snapping turtles. A ditch that turned into a creek as you got near the river. We would usually jump it, but during one flood year, we actually moved a couple of trees and made a shitty, slippery bridge. That bridge ruined a lot of our clothes.
We built a club house in the woods near one of my friend's home. Some of it still stands. The damn tree it was built around got struck by lightning at least once a year.
There is a pair of 30 foot pine trees near the middle of town. Their branches extend to a diameter of about 10 feet at the bottom. At the bottom, facing the street, there is an opening, where the branches are sparse, and it would provide access to local kids who wanted to climb the inner branches, and hang out. Rumor has it a certain pair of young boys even stored a pornographic magazine there for a short stint. Ah, the "pine tree hide tree."
Actually, there's just one tree, now. The other was removed to make room for an agriculture office of some sort.
In the middle our town, where the state highways 156 and 56 meet, there is a building currently known as the Belmark Inn. It used to be the Red Brick Inn. By the time I had my experience with it, it had been long-closed. Some of my friends'(Jonathan and Michael) parents had bought in inn, and were planning to fix it up. It'd been burned out in a fatal fire long ago. I don't even know how many died. In the meantime, they were living there. The basement of this building was the most expansive cavern I've ever seen. I have suspicions that it was once part of the underground railroad. I know the town court house was, and that's only a block away.
Tonight is a night to look back, on the things I've felt, and the people I've felt them with. This entry is a cross section of my stream of consciousness. Death is a process.
We built a club house in the woods near one of my friend's home. Some of it still stands. The damn tree it was built around got struck by lightning at least once a year.
There is a pair of 30 foot pine trees near the middle of town. Their branches extend to a diameter of about 10 feet at the bottom. At the bottom, facing the street, there is an opening, where the branches are sparse, and it would provide access to local kids who wanted to climb the inner branches, and hang out. Rumor has it a certain pair of young boys even stored a pornographic magazine there for a short stint. Ah, the "pine tree hide tree."
Actually, there's just one tree, now. The other was removed to make room for an agriculture office of some sort.
In the middle our town, where the state highways 156 and 56 meet, there is a building currently known as the Belmark Inn. It used to be the Red Brick Inn. By the time I had my experience with it, it had been long-closed. Some of my friends'(Jonathan and Michael) parents had bought in inn, and were planning to fix it up. It'd been burned out in a fatal fire long ago. I don't even know how many died. In the meantime, they were living there. The basement of this building was the most expansive cavern I've ever seen. I have suspicions that it was once part of the underground railroad. I know the town court house was, and that's only a block away.
Tonight is a night to look back, on the things I've felt, and the people I've felt them with. This entry is a cross section of my stream of consciousness. Death is a process.