un-forsaking boyhood

an essay about my special bookshelf, the recurring need for boyhood stories, and helping the ManChild

If I were the type to share pictures of my work area, my office, my desk, etc. such that you all could ogle it and judge/envy accordingly and feed your desire for mimetic content, on one wall you’d see a bookshelf that looks like it was plucked from the room of a fifth grader c. 2002, or at the very least locked in time, like the dust-covered belongings…