THE GREY WINDOW

Hello everyone, everywhere,

You know, since I got out of the hospital Michelle and Dean have done nothing but take excellent care of me. And my friends have all been there too. Recovery is slow, though I’m right back to playing and doing everything I did before. But now I drink a lot of water and take different pills. But not so many pills. A lot of vitamins.

Lately the weather here has been, to say the least, gloomy. My new castle is still on hold and I’m frustrated and tired. But Michelle keeps me going every day, so I just keep on. I guess if people believe in you, you have to give back at least enough to make sure that what those people are giving you is valued. That’s how I see it anyway.

That’s it.

And now it’s time to close our eyes and our thoughts, if only for a moment…and rest. Until we meet again at Billy and Flossie Morton’s World Famous Home of Spitting Contests and Ladies’ Temperance Leauge, booked together every Tuesday and Thursday night, where our motto is If the spittin’ gets away from the can, at least the ladies’ league is sure to remind ’em. You’ll find it on the corner of StressedOutLane and LosingItBoulevard.

TEN DAYS SLOANE PRESCOTT WANTS BACK

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The wind couldn’t have been colder that day. (It could have been, but I doubt it). Sloane Prescott, he felt it. Lying in his bed with a blanket up around his ears.

You see, Sloane (who is twelve by the way), went skiing with his cousins. And Sloane was showing off again. Well folks, if tumbling end over tea kettle comes to mind, you’re in the loop.

Little Sloane got lucky, two sprained ankles. Can’t walk, hurts like heck as you move around. “At least ten days of bed rest, you get me boy?” says old Doc Turnkey.

Ten days of spring break holidays shot, that’s all Sloane could think.

“Or you’ll never walk again–ever!” finishes up old Doc Turnkey.

“Now if that don’t scare the bazongos out of a ticker tree!” shouts Sloane Prescott (all twelve years of him).

“Okay, I’ll wrap it up,” says Sloane to his imaginary audience.

The moral of this story, as seen through the thoughts of Sloane (I’m only twelve) Prescott is, If you’re going to use your good stuff, do it on the bunny hill not the black diamond.

That’s all.

(NEVER EVER GIVE UP)

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By jamesghutcheson

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