It’s the first weekend in July, 1988, so I’m visiting my father’s family in Hilldale, Pennsylvania.
The good news is, I’m still young and handsome. The bad news is, I do stupid things.
Some cousins and I go blueberry picking in the Poconos. I tire of their interest in Reaganomics so I wander off alone.
“Aaah, free at last!” I boast defiantly. No radical politics, no horrible music, no bad jokes!”
The catch was that 3:00 p.m soon became 8:00 p.m. with no sense of direction and no men’s room.
Next year I’m going shopping for sure at Redner’s for blueberries.
Rochelle leads us weekly at Friday Fictioneers.