Previously, Part One: Where All Dem Gypsy Women At?
That’s when my uncle stepped up.
It had one narrow, rectangular basement window that didn’t let in much natural light.
I wandered in there for nostalgia’s sake.
One in particular caught my eye.
It was a Bob Dylan poetry book, probably my cousin Arthur’s.
He was into music.
I took it and started reading it while I lived there.
He always pushed me around.
He was too heavy to play Pop Warner football, but I think he played Bantam.
It was two blocks from Nantasket Beach and only a five-minute walk to Paragon Park.
It was my first experience with an outdoor shower, and I loved it.
It was always the best two weeks of my summer.
He got mean and barked out the rules, and I had to speedwalk to keep up with him.
“As soon as we get there,” he said.
“You’re on your own.
You’re not gonna hang with me.
I shook my head no.
“That’s just weird, and it’s gotta hurt.
They got teeth…”
“No,“he said.
“It feels great!
A couple years later, I had a change of heart.
Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental…
