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My
family's house sat on a hill. My father fought a
never-ending battle with geological forces to prevent
his driveway from washing down the hill into the street
with every heavy rain. One of his more successful
maneuvers was graveling the thing with a heavy, gray
aggregate, like you'd find on a railroad bed. We boys
would stand in the driveway and ping those rocks with
baseball bats for hours, much to the annoyance of my
father and the neighbors down the hill, I'm sure. I'm
surprised we got away with it at all. I suppose boys
would be boys back then. |
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