My knees. And how the only way they do not fail me is by providing fodder…
Do your ears hang low, do they wobble to and fro?
It was a warm, sunny evening.
Peacefully sitting in the yard, that obnoxious song blared from the ice cream truck. It rambled up the street, with kids running out their doors, clutching dollar bills, screaming, “STOP!” Decades ago, I was doing the same thing; running, screaming “STOP,” clutching a quarter in my hand. That was back when my knees worked and a quarter bought more than 15 minutes in a parking meter.
