I take a stroll down to the park to steal the children's candy.

The mother's scream at me to leave as I drink swigs of brandy.

You've brought over a spooked.

Stay tuned. In sixth grade, I lived near a lake, small town called Sanford, Michigan, Sanford Lake, awesome place.

Understand.

My family did have nothing like this, but my friends, their dads,

worked at a fancy dial chemical. And mostly they had houses right on the lake with docks and

boats. We had water ski and jet ski and swim. And all my buddies lived a short bike ride

away, especially my bestie.

We were free-range kids.

Wild. In the woods, the water, the streets, hung out tough, the best friend of Keith could have.

And not too far away, there was a livery stable where I learned to keep horses.

There's a little store with video games and snacks.

And besides my truly psychotic sixth grade teacher,

everything was awesome.

I loved it.

But after that one year, a sixth grade year, we moved away.

I've never been back.

Not ever.

So imagine just a few years ago,

May 20th, 2020,

right near the beginning of the pandemic,

...