The other day I visited my favorite place in Massachusetts. You know what day… a surprisingly rich and creamy day in November, forgiving skies and birds singing. Nice to be able to wear a t-shirt again.
I walked past a scruffy, crappy little ballfield and a pair of lads were half-assing around. One kid in the field and the other with the aluminum bat. Swing, pink! Pink! sssPink!
And that noise, it just kills me. I get that feeling in my stomach like when the sun goes down and people start turning their lights on inside and you can see them watching TV from outside. Like when you’ve been swimming around at Lincoln Woods and you get out and you’re on the sand in a towel, dripping. Like moths in quicksand.
Now look. See? It’s Christmastime. Just admit it.
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