randomly, meandering

A boy, in a box

 

 

 What is this shed?  Shed 2, of course! 

 

The market has become almost intolerable, as all the white people make a weekly trek into the donut hole, to purchase pretty flowers and produce.  Overheard one, to a German tourist (!), "Yes, I've been coming down here for six years now!"  Ooh.

It can take fifteen minutes to shuffle from one end of a shed to the other, now, and many of the stalls have been overtaken by non-produce vendors, as seen above.  These N.P.V.'s tend to suck the cash out of your wallet at a ridiculous rate, so you have to be careful, as some -- like the brinery and raw foods, for example -- are hard to resist, luring you in with their tempting samples.

 

In the foreground, these shipping containers are the future cheeky hotel, planned to be placed, abut the cut -- otherwise known as the train tracks, or discrete passage to the river.  In the background, are a lot of non-city residents marching and chanting against Monsanto GMO foods.  Maybe not the place...

A view of the boys, together, as always, enjoying a bit of the paradise in back of mom's and dad's home.  Wherever Jared goes, Will is sure to tag along, and Jare' is generally a good sport about it.

 

At Will's last game, we had an all American show up to cheer.

 

A very dapper looking fellow, too.

 

After the game, the team and an opponent -- and a little sister -- took to the playground, moving en masse, from one object to the next.

 

Guess who's up top?

 

Several hundred under-dogs were had.

 

This is a bug:

 And Will, showing off his graduation gift from Grandma -- far easier to get this in the hoop than the standard basket ball, though, he's not bad with that, either.

Why someone would buy water balloons for these children is beyond me -- but they did, and, of course, they blasted them all at the cars.  And each-other.  (There are three little monsters there, in case you missed the one peaking over the hood.)

 

We stopped in our amazing hobby shop, for a gift certificate and hopes they might have a replacement for our slot track, now sporting a blown resistor.  Somehow, Will had never been here, before!  There is a sign on the trains that says:  Children:  Do not operate trains!  But there are buttons all around that do not seen to have deleterious effect when pressed multiple times, so, is it a joke?  Will decided it was.

 

 

And, lest it appear we no longer have a daughter, here is the lovely young lady,

 

 

drinking the blood of her enemies.