It was Thursday, September 8, 1988.
Wyatt and Shane and I had moved to the big, tumbledown house in Swede Hollow the previous week.
Wyatt quickly claimed the big upstairs bedroom. The other two were kinda…well, crummy.
I saw that the front living room had a couple of pull-out partition doors that could be pulled out and hooked shut to become walls. I claimed that one; Shane was happy to claim the other two.
The good news: the living room had plenty of room for me, my “desk” (an old banquet table) and a big, beautiful stained glass window and looked out on the street. The bad news? The street was a crummy little ditch lined with decrepit buildings largely full of drug dealers and lowlifes.
Like, I guess, at this point of my life, me.
I had a nice thick curtain, too.
I settled in.
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