backpack raze he walks with a stoop. he probably hasn't seen the inside of a school in fifty years, but today he's got a backpack slung over his shoulders. black. like the one that used to carry my books and the small sack that held my lunch. a mischievous smile strips the age from his face, and for a moment he's a child again. "i crazy," he says. "i bent like this. you see. i put two bricks in here. try to make myself straight again. i electrician. sometimes warm. sometimes cold. sometimes early. sometimes late. sometimes lifting. but usually not. when i young, i lift ninety kilos moving school supplies all the time." he straightens his spine as much as he can and assumes a bodybuilder's stance. "i stupid," he says. "always in competition with self. i hurt back. i hurt legs. i hurt everything. now, only one thing left. good mood." he sticks his finger in his left ear. "i have hearing problem," he says. "i use this hearing aid." i tell him there are some things it's better not to hear. and he laughs. 221113 what's it to you? who go blather from