My favorite short story of mine is a remembrance of our basement in Rockville, Maryland. My father would bring us empty little liquor bottles from his business trip flights, which we would fill with tea. Then we would play dysfunctional family, and my other brother would gobble down the liquor, fake-beat his wife (my sister), and me (his son), while my little sister would look on and ask, "Why can't we play regular house?"
Eventually, this tableau became the basis of the best haunted house West Ritchie Parkway had ever seen. Oddly, I can't remember if we used ghosts.
My favorite short story of mine is a remembrance of our basement in Rockville, Maryland. My father would bring us empty little liquor bottles from his business trip flights, which we would fill with tea. Then we would play dysfunctional family, and my other brother would gobble down the liquor, fake-beat his wife (my sister), and me (his son), while my little sister would look on and ask, "Why can't we play regular house?"
Eventually, this tableau became the basis of the best haunted house West Ritchie Parkway had ever seen. Oddly, I can't remember if we used ghosts.