I was shopping for men's jogging tights (you know, backups for my backup's backups) at the Sports Basement on Bryant Street with Bevan and Sidney after dinner this evening when the following text message arrived at my cell phone from my friend Nina in Chicago.
A photo arrived about a second later and after a brief glance I discerned, from the sweaters and the hair styles mostly, that it was taken on the playground at Pennsylvania Elementary School between the monkey bars and the twirly slide during the last weeks of autumn in 1989.
In case it's not obvious, I'm the dude in the third row smiling super hard through a dead front tooth while wearing a blonde hair helmet and tilting his head just so. I killed the tooth by smashing my face into the pavement on Stafford Drive while hauling ass toward Josh G.'s house on my bike the summer before. Nina's the gal rocking the opposing head tilt in front of me. Anyway, to echo her wish, here's to the week ahead. May you smile so hard at least once that your head has to tilt. And truthfully, once is probably enough. I've been practicing in the mirror and I look like a shart victim.