“I like driving backwards in the fog…”

The poor thing hits the ground face-first.

It’s only a plastic jack-o-lantern.

But it’s still a shame.

 

 

The toddler that dropped it looks like he stepped right out of a Rockwell painting.

The kid’s all blond haired, blue eyed and cute enough to make my girlfriend want to have 12 of him.

And he’s running down the sidewalk at a gold-medal pace.

His mother calls to him to come back.

But his little legs keep pumping.

 

 

“Run, kid. Run like Hell”, I say.

My gal, sitting across from me at the café table says, “From what?! His mom?!”

I tell her no (with a cocksure smile).

From everything.

He can’t be more than 3.

And it’s all downhill from there.

 

 

Ω

♪ ♫ ♪: Audioslave – Doesn’t Remind Me