Michael Munas (michaelboy) wrote,
Michael Munas

At the edge of where nature was left to coal waste

In the scent of rusty iron, sulfur and black mud, you scratched my name in the concrete of the culvert, right next to yours. It was more close to permanent than I could imagine -- and with a rock, no less. We talked about soaking cat-tails in kerosene to make medieval torches. We were both as skinny as sticks and all very much knees, then.
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