When I think of the radio man now, I think of Neil Young first: how his eyes lit up when we appraised the genius of Young’s melodies—nostalgia and grunge mixed with a dark abdomen of story.
Read MoreIt won’t be home any longer, that tub of iron and porcelain, perched on bricks, and the grey blue stone that we laid down ourselves with paste and effort and hope. The children bathe with lavender and soap, boats too, plastic cups, little men with overalls, a tiny brush for their fingers I bought at a market in a city I don’t remember.
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