I knew a few people in the town where I grew up in since the age of 10. Most of them all lived on the same block street. I remember the summer heat brought a lot of treats to where we had the push cart meet from the ice cream feet's walking the sweet tooth beat.
The key to the scene of the neighborhood social screen was Mr. Benedictine. He organized everyone on the corner as if he were a foreman running a dormer. Atop of his front porch, Mr. Benedictine rocked liked a celebrity jock with plenty of "Brach's." I also remember him planning and compiling lots of games and activities with a big smile and an athletic style.
Us kids, when we saw his old bummie truck stuck in a rut, we would all run over to help move it to the side for a George Washington buck. We all had enough money to fill our gut with a lot of corrupt candy tuck. We felt like little smucks lucky to be disrupt as hockey pucks.
Written by: Patrick James Quaker
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