“Old Fart’s Chat.”

by Regis Boff

So when I was about seven, give or take, I got yards and yards of white string and coated it in beeswax. Then, with a hammer and nail, I made a hole in the middle of two tin cans. I ran the string from my bedroom window to my friend’s window in the house next door.
We talked after I said my prayers, all night long. Give or take.
We planned to travel in a car forever when we grew up. We were going to go everywhere on Earth. We would vaguely earn money in between trips by playing professional baseball. He died in Vietnam, and I went ahead with the plan without him.

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