Tuesday, May 24, 2011

corrective lens

In a small town, friends are neighbors.
In the Blue River of my childhood, the house next to ours was as familiar to me as my own.
The living room had an amazing two foot tall ash tray; a silver bucking horse. Our neighbor loved to smoke. He always had a cigarette clamped firmly in the corner of his mouth and it was fascinating to watch it bob up and down as he talked.
Once in a fit of nerves brought on by his wife's driving, he fumbled for a second cigarette, lighting it up, completely oblivious to the fact that he was already smoking one.
It's funny that even the foibles of friends are viewed through the corrective lens of kindness.

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