kyle raze he wasn't a hero to me, but i made him the hero in a bunch of stories i wrote when i was a kid, twisting him and other people i went to school with into caricatures of themselves. he didn't always get the girl, but he always found a way to save the day. and he played a mean triangle. i used to see him at the mall sometimes back when walking at the mall was still a thing you could do. his vision was so bad i don't think he really saw faces anymore, but he always seemed to know where he wanted to go, and he was always talking to himself. i never heard what he was saying. it must have been something good. he was always smiling. maybe he was remembering something that made him happy. or maybe he was telling himself a story better than any of the ones i wrote that he never knew about. i think he might know a secret about what it is to be happy. if i see him again i think i'll ask him what it is. 210211 ... raze i saw him walking at the side of the road. he wasn't smiling. he had his hood up to shield him from the rain. his beard looked like dirt. i didn't think it was him at first, but it was, the face of the child i knew not grown or aged but warped into a lifelike rubber mask that looked angry at the day for letting him down. 211126 ... raze he was in one of my dreams. he hoisted me up in front of him, his hands under my armpits. i was small and new and almost weightless, almost flying, delirious with fear and wonder. he was the strongest man in the world. he raised me higher and higher above his head until i was sure my feet would never touch the ground again. i couldn't fly. but he made me believe i could. i got him back by fitting three belgian chocolates the size of crepes with hidden sensors that responded to vibrations. they jumped around on a small black cafe table, a trio of seashell-shaped animals, and i watched astonishment colour his face and make it young again. 211127 what's it to you? who go blather from