Toy was the kind of kid who made stuff up. His grandma used to tell him that, way out here in the country, the best friend a boy can have is his imagination. He was never really sure what she meant by imagination, but he tended to listen to the voice in his head and to roll things around in his mind until an idea became something more, so he saw pirate ships where others just saw cumulus clouds, he heard the conversations that farm animals had with one another and he soon discovered that something in his lunch sack could take wing and fly.
The Only Lunch That Works
If you’re reconciled to the fact that you’ll need to work your entire life, then you’ve undoubtedly acquired a few valuable survival skills. One that I’ve long relied on is a very narrow definition of lunch. On the first day at my first real job, I went outside and ate lunch in my truck. Being the first day and all, I didn’t want to wander into the common lunch area and be spotted as the new guy. I didn’t want to watch strangers eat and they for damn sure couldn’t handle watching me. I’ve done the same thing since, every single day of my working life.
They Stole The Little Kid’s Lunch
I made 6,120 school lunches. That’s a real number, adjusted for inflation and school holidays. It wasn’t hard, there’s a basic winning formula. School can stress the little bastards out so I always figured, if nothing else, my kids should be able to look into their lunch sacks and find something that would put a smile on their face and help them momentarily forget about that bitch of a principal Misses Fartknocker. School-aged kids used to be able to count on two things: recess and lunch, well, not so much anymore.