Today is the one-year anniversary of the Gottingen Street fire.
It’s also Hopscotch Jackson’s birthday:
[Ahh, summertime. Ahhhhh, Hopscotch.]
Upon leaving the “Lebanon,” who did we see on the sidewalk but Gerry.
“AHHHHHHHH!!!” yelled Gerry. He ran and flung himself into a snowbank. He rolled over on his back, legs kicking in the air. “AHHHHHHH!!!”
I ran towards Gerry and dove on top of him. My bag of hummous and pita went flying. “BLLEEEEEAAAHHHHHH!!!” I yelled. I steamrolled Gerry and we rolled around and around in the snow.
“AHHHHHHHH!!!” we yelled. We stopped yelling and laid there for a moment, and then we got up and dusted ourselves off.
Gerry was on his way to get his hair done. He showed Hopscotch his blond roots. Betcha never knew Gerry was a blond.
Some guy passed us while we were all standing there on the sidewalk. He smiled and nodded to us on the way by.
“That guy,” said Gerry. “Pretending he’s all down with the freakout.”