The Value Of Pests

I've spent most of a long life rushing about, flailing my arms, "Don't you see the magic? Don't you see it?"

At this point it's fairly obvious to  me that the only thing that keeps me from being locked up is that I'm harmless. That's alright. I'll take it.

I remember the way the light reflected on the broken glass in the puddles on the city street in Birmingham. We left the Magic City in 1953 so it's been awhile.

The first pictures that I ever saw of Little Richard! I'm still fascinated.

That puppy that I could see a block away, running innocently along the curb on MacDill Avenue. I sprinted for all I was worth only to watch him hit by a Pontiac as I got there. He breathed his last, sweet breath looking into my eyes as I cried. I'm still crying.

My friend, Jimmy Reilly's older cousin, Billy fixed me and him up with "dates." We went on his dad's boat to Egmont Key. Coming back as the sun went down it got cold. Really cold by Florida standards. I gave her my flannel shirt and put my arm around her for the half hour trip home. I'm still smiling.

Of course that reminds me of every broken heart. I've never gotten over one. What's worse is the idea that I ever did some hurting myself.

Advice? Ignore it. That's my advice. If I were you, though, I'd keep an eye on the puddles. You see it, right? You see the magic.

Give us peace on earth and end this dreadful, dreadful war.