1163 words on the Pie Story tonight. Maybe another 500 to go–probably less.
It’s a sad story. Probably because, in addition to being about poverty, it is related to some other things from the wasteland of Bagot Street: Arnold’s litter-mate, who died at three days old and was buried in the garden; the eclipse and the fountain downtown; the east-facing window, from which the view was nothing but bleak.
I surprise myself again with the depth of the despair I still carry with me from that time, even in the light of today.
