a story from FH Shafroth
Every day, when I walk down Vine, it is almost as if I'm remembering a fine wine: those memories of days on the front stoop, embarrassed at being robed only in a sheet, as Lydia shaved our heads--almost as much as those dreadful moments in Tolland on the three hole outhouse--terrified some other customer would enter at a ripened time--dashing me way out of rhyme.
From marbles to lacrosse, young Henny was the best--friendship and support that would never give a rest. From marbles to long afternoons of football or lacrosse at Congress Park: he was the feller who could help make it a lark.
After those many, many years, it is a sharp stab of grief to hear of this unique leaf who has departed from his side: I can only hope that all that she was will remain a vital buzz.
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