Jesus, erika. I read that last line, opened my mouth, closed it again, because really, all right there, nothing to say.

Damn.

I debated about adding something about how I never told him why, or how we did that a few more times and I never tried to choose between two brown ones(I got the "pretty" ones, he ate the rejects.) but then I thought that was story enough. I ate a lot of M's as a child, if I can still tell you what the '80s bag looked like!

Wow, Erika. That's amazing.

Thank you.

(I got the "pretty" ones, he ate the rejects)

And your eyes were way better than his were.

Yeah, I think so. Now he's a divorced prison guard living with his mama and no fun anymore.

my take on the drabble

It was the late 60s. I knew nothing of life beyond the hills I was born in. Walter Cronkite stood next to a chalkboard and used unfamiliar words like Viet Cong and casualties.

The church gave us Trick or Treat for Unicef boxes, telling us it would help kids like us in other parts of the world. We went out, glad to help.

The people opening their doors lost their smiles, gave us candy but no coins. A woman pulled us in, sat us down in her living room, and told us that Unicef was a front for bad people and that the money would go to someone called Communists. Then she smiled, gave us candy, and sent us on our way.

I miss the hills. I don't miss the people.

Dear Lord, that gave me shivers.

I want to show Hubby the color I think of as green, not this yellowy green they have in Utah. But I have no interest in interacting much with the people.

Wow, Connie, I could really relate. Not, like, note for note, but...