Guess who got a little package from his auntie in the mail. Big score, of course. And he's being ogled at the pool a lot.
I told you the Spidey thing is getting out of hand.
It begins to rain. The first harsh, sparse, swift drops rush through the leaves and across the ground in a long sigh, as though of relief from intolerable suspense.
And since sleep is is-not and rain and wind are was, it is not.
"Hey, Madge, what did you wish for?"
"I'm not going to say because then it might not come true."
"What did you wish for, Coco?"
(Meant, of course, was, "A rock to throw in here instead of the measly nickel my dad gave me.")
Madge at our first Yankee's game.
It was a busy day: birthday party in Brooklyn, game in Bronx. All in all, about two and a half or three hours on the subway that day.
But we survived, thanks to fun events.
And Madge had some books along, so she could tune out when she needed to.