i’m talking to this kid i knew from elementary school.
he was one of my first friends ever. i remember being five years old and watching arthur at his house and running around prairie park and the alleyway in his neighborhood.
he recited lyrics i wrote when i was only twelve years old. i hardly recognized them, and he had to be the one to tell me who wrote them.
he came with me when i went to spread my mom’s ashes. i don’t know why i brought him with. i can’t remember a lot of that day. he told me that don offered to let him spread a handful, and he did it.
i haven’t talked to this kid for three years and he came back to apologize for ever doing that in the first place.
