Coming Soon Enough

I remember standing behind my grandmother's garage with my brother, or maybe a cousin, in this little space between the building and the cyclone fence. Next to us were grapevine trellises, with vines that produced a champagne grape I never tasted. It was a small secret place too small for adults to squeeze into comfortably. Clothesline, white paint, gravel driveway, the smell of gasoline and grease deep in the ground all around us.

That's what I'm hoping for. Except not about a property line in Overland, but about bits and pieces of south St. Louis all around me. Probably some photographs. Maybe daily, once Conlocutio is done, but until then, just little bits. Maybe once a month for now.