Friday, December 02, 2011
A young lad is worn out from running alongside his hoop as he prods it with a broken broom handle. All around the dirt streets of his little hometown he runs, his bare feet caked with sweat-dampened dust finally pausing in an alley before heading home to do his chores. After taking a couple puffs from his corncob pipe stuffed with corn silks, he coughs, throws his hoop over one shoulder and blows a tune on his whistle as he slowly marches his way home, pretending he’s the player of the great steam calliope that passed through the summer before.
