By Robert Hass
October 10th; 2010. A 13-year old towhead runs out of his home into the crisp autumn evening. Around the corner, up the next block of his tidy neighborhood, he spies his destination: a curb lined with cars, a house bathed in light. Calming his breath, he sneaks in the unlocked front door. He slips through a tangle of barking dogs, trays of food and collides into a cluster of animated houseguests spilling into a 24-seat home theater. The kid settles into his chair, his heart racing, his eyes fixed straight ahead. What will tonight’s adventure bring?
A hushed whisper breaks the silence: “Rosebud.”
Welcome to First Friday at the Hirshorn’s house and to my teenage life.
A hushed whisper breaks the silence: “Rosebud.”
Welcome to First Friday at the Hirshorn’s house and to my teenage life.
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