what’s left of a place that I was told that Grandpa Tacho would go when Grandma Mommy kicked him out…
This place always seemed sad and mysterious to me…

When they fought Grandpa would give us money and we’d cross the highway and buy cokes in glass bottles from a machine at this place… We’d add peanuts and I think that we might have played pool..
This is where the memories fade as per usual…

The old high school. I always loved this building.
Imagined that it were in some big city somewhere
surrounded by others just as brick and tall…
One other moment in a long stream of moments
when I was “living somewhere other than where I was living”

When we were small and brats we would jump into the huge pile of leaves that Grandpa raked up into these soft inviting heaps of fun…
I do not recall him yelling at us, although I am sure he must have but I do recall him buying us popsicles… The very same ones he would buy Ray’s kids years and years later…
The old church were we all gather to say goodbye to those we never really thought we could lose.

Every single time I drive past I long to stop and sit and chat with the priest I know has spent several years in Asia…Feel he has some secret for me about how exactly I am meant to live here…
Why won’t I stop?
The start of a normal street in this normal village…A street I remember seeming so important to me because we never went down it or into its shops…

Grandopa used to come here…
but I cannot remember why.