A dirty tale

by Ken Carpenter

Today I have a story about dirt; part historical, part geographical and all dirty. The prudes among you don’t have to worry, it barely registers on Prickter Scale.
I’m fairly fond of dirt, as long as it isn’t too sticky. I can’t stand sticky fingers. Dirt clods hold a dear place in my heart, I love the way they splatter.
I once nailed an older bully with one when he was smoking during recess, at Evergreen School in 1958. It knocked the smoke out of his mouth and I ran so fast I got lost in the woods and the whole school went out looking for me. I wandered back and had no clue where everybody was. By some miracle the bully let me live, though he threw many a murderous glance my way through the next ten years of school.
Yes, dirt is downright handy, even if it can be troublesome

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