No Smoke From the Chimney

Diary entry: I remember the Farmington of old, the Farmington of my youth was like a story out of Dickens, we were shiny black ravens who flocked among the chimney smoke lanes, our hearts fluttered with wings of anticipation for when that jolly man would appear, the half drunken man who drove the coal lorry, we were always eager to see his arrival, as it meant there would be fresh coal for the furnace, perchance the dream that we may sleep warm once again, softly nestled in our flannel night clothes, and the world was good, the world would be a cozy place once more, and cold reality would be left on the wintry doorstep like a bad dog that had drug home another skunk, I remember Farmington, the Farmington of my youth, and I smile sadly and pour out a large martini this time to toast those bygone days, those bygone memories, and those bygone dreams, it all seems so long ago and far away, but on these nights, I catch glimpses of young blackbirds lined up on the telephone wires chatting of their futures, their hopes, their big dreams for the future, I’m here now in the future, it isn’t what I had thought it would be, so long ago, in that sooty Dickens novel of my young life, shalom to all the sooty young blackbirds who are now older and gray, who now roost on the ground, Paulie is with you always…


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