Psychological
Saturday, September 24th, 2011
“Toby’s dad is ‘it’,” called one of the neighborhood boys at the park. Anton was enjoying his weekly Saturday game of tag with Toby and the neighborhood kids at the local park. The park’s large, grassy area was rarely mowed and riddled with weeds. Random garbage and the occasional pile of dog feces dotted the landscape. In the center of the park was a circular area of old, red mulch with a rust, brown jungle gym in its center. On the side adjacent from each other were two equally deteriorated, brown swing sets. The children used one of the swing sets, while the other set only had one swing left. That individual swing was used by the local drug dealer as a one stop shop for a variety of illegal drugs. He monopolized that spot for a majority of each day.
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Crumbs descended from the bread like little thoughts gone by. Every bit of the loaf had to be carved into tiny pieces. A fresh loaf, the flakiness seemed like forever. There existed a sense of the bread being something more than just wheat flour and water, unleavened. The brownness and the tanned nature enlivened the baker. The dark spots of where fire licked like little children tongue ice cubes seemed black and plain as skin.
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