I could see right up his nose

I love Charles Dickens. He brings out the boy in me. I don’t know if my story is David Copperfield’s or Oliver Twists. It started in a ditch. In front of my house. I used it as a couch. A place to sit and stare up at the sky. And dream. If that’s what you call staring at clouds. While your mind drifts.

He stood over me. I could see right up his nose. There was a dangle of hair a.k.a. James Dean hanging from his head. He was laughing.

“What the fuck you doing down there?” He asked.

That’s how I met Ed Kuris.