I used to love her...

Sometimes the humility of the 1430 crew sends chills down our collective spine, like when we once repeated in unison the same sentence with the redhaired girl who sat next to us in homeroom and then we laughed at the same time but we had to excuse ourself to the restroom shortly thereafter just to look at the muscles around our eye twitch involuntarily wild on our face. In an effort to dispel similarly lingering spine tinglers, jokes have been cracking at The Local recently about the below pair of Donkay members; to spare the worst, names like Twistd Sista, Sister Act, and, sadly, Sista-I-Misstya, were in fact mentioned. This oldie but goodie doesn't evoke exactly those same feelings, but it was sent in on the back of a recipe for apple pie, and it does have a pungency worthy of display. A bit of sunshine retrieved from the dank corridors of Donkay, postmarked Lake Woompampa Girls Camp by elder sister Gail Leegale, composed by younger sister Leigh during their extensive summer of 1949 correspondence.

Sis,

Mom has a mustache and Dad can't sleep, the all-volunteer fire fighting force forbids his getting winks, even on the quietest nights, when a flame might could warm the blood of some of these neighbors of ours. Jim is gone by dawn and I put his oatmeal bowl in the basin to clean and use for myself. Mom says he needs a fire in his belly to face the sunless ocean and I agree; the traces of his bowl's heat ease my constant worrying. I walked down to Pleasant Lea again this morning but I couldn't find the deer prints from yesterday; the stag print was as big as Jim's hand, full outstretched.

I first saw that stag from across the inlet and he was walking so slow I followed him all the way to the town dump, out by Patty Mable's barn. He walked all over that putrid sink. Stupid animal. I wanted to walk up to him and pull those antlers off his tiny head and tell him he didn't deserve them and no wonder everyone - even Mom - comes back from the Hallow's Eve hunt with at least an eight pointer in tow. This one's got ten points. He smelled over a ripped paper bag of rotten tomatoes for about a minute and then ate one and the thing was so raunch it buckled that dumb stag's legs like he'd been shot but then he stood back up and I swear to God he swiveled his neck left and right to make sure nobody saw him do it, or else to make sure he was still there, knee high in human shit. I named him Rick on account of his acting so dumb, like Rick, Jim's old friend who ate caterpillars and pieces of wood on bets. Stupid Rick.

Mostly I've been taking walks and following Rick as much as I can, just to see how he goes down, and who gets him. Guess I'll follow them then.

MissinyouLotsGG,
L.