erthbndangl

There are days when I walk home from school, the normal route, past all the same houses.  I see the brick house with a giant, protruding, supposedly artistic rock in the middle of the yard.  I see the houses of my friends, of the dogs I walk while their owners are away, and of the children I see at the town library.  There is no other way, really, to go home; it is a straight line, there and back.  But I don't like straight lines. Today, I don't head straight home, but instead walk in a totally different direction.  I head up the block, past the town's main street, and down a hill toward the