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Showing posts from January, 2014

How solitaire made me normal

When I was four-years-old, I was a little  (how shall I put this?) schizophrenic. I talked to numbers. They were my friends -  and each had a distinct, particular personality. For example - number One was an only child, growing up on Summit Avenue. His father was number  Fourteen,  who didn't believe in God. The wife of Six.  Six, if I recall,  was married to Miss Francis from Ding-Dong School. Ricky Ricardo loved Nine.  He almost married her, but Lucy came along - and ruined everything. Numbers were my playmates.  I still remember when Five, Seven and I put pennies on the rail-road track near the Dunlap Avenue Short Line. After the train passed, we knew we couldn't  keep the flattened souvenirs - my mother would have beat the daylights out of us for playing in the ravine. Instead, we sold them to Eight and Ten; a couple of red heads growing up in an over-crowded duplex on Lincoln Avenue. How many kids in the house?  Beats me. I didn't know