Fractal #38: Falling down drunk
Sunday night freezing rain slicked the streets and in my headlights a man my age lay on his side, legs splayed. Joan helped him stand and as he wobbled, bent in pain, I said “You’re drunk.” He agreed. We put him in the car and drove the neighborhood for ten minutes looking for his house. “You are wonderful,” he said. “You’ve done way more than you should.”

Brantley, who is seven, was helping me lay the fire in the fireplace. We put a wide flat board at the back. “Look,” he said, “it’s a smiling guy face! See, he’s got eyes, and a nose, and a mouth. And he’s smiling at us!”
“It really is a smiling guy, isn’t it. I guess we can’t burn him, can we.”
“Nope,” said Brantley.