On Drugs

I ran into Pumpkin Face again, this time dressed as a robot for the end-of-year theatrical festival at the childrens’ school. He’s a five-year-old terror who can become a hitting machine on the spot and belt out warnings like, “Move out of my way or else.” He follows through with the “or else.” I know. My shins were sore for days after my first and last confrontation with him.

Here at the school festival, Pumpkin Face is rather pleasant, amicable even.

I thought, Whoa, he must be on a depressant or medication for hyperactivity.

Then I thought, I’m so cruel.

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