Memory Lane

Lately I’ve been having weird memories surface. Like the time my young son and I watched a pig eat a pair of sunglasses at the Central Park Children’s Zoo. Or the time when I was in third grade and my class held a referendum on whether a girl named Jan must stop picking her nose. (It passed unanimously.) Or the time I got blotto-drunk and found myself driving the wrong way on the divided Interstate 280 freeway—and didn’t die or get arrested.

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