Tell us a story about: the newspaper boy.
Finally bought a towel rack for the bathroom this morning. Haven't actually installed it yet, but at least there's one in the house. Chopped some more wood this afternoon, otherwise took things pretty slow. It's that time of year.
I also got around to adding some pages to the blog. If you look over to the left, you'll see a new section for Writing Quotes and a Contact Me page. I'll probably add one or two more pages in the next few days. That's the plan, at any rate.
The ink-stained cloth bags were full to bursting as he heaved them onto his shoulders, one after the other. He wore them like saddlebags, their straps criss-crossing across his chest and back. I wasn't sure if they weighed more than he did or not, but it must have been pretty close.
I watched him shuffle away, his shoes scraping across the pavement. I could see the straps biting into his shoulders but he didn't complain, didn't even wince in pain. He just wanted to get to the first house on his route so that he could start lightening his load, one paper at a time.
Mr. Allen would probably yell at him for being late. Mrs. Henderson would likely have her vicious dog loose in the yard. The Anderson's were guaranteed to have left their gate locked, forcing him to clamber over it in order to leave their paper in their mailbox. And not a one of them would appreciate the poor kid and what he went through to bring them their daily news.
Nope, the job really hadn't changed much in the years since I had done it.