Summer 1968. I just crapped my diaper. Again. Cronkite is on the television. Something about fighter bombers and a war far away that I know nothing about. On a good day, we get 4 channels. Today is good. Not that I comprehend what an antenna does or do I have the ability to adjust it for better reception. The Beatles are on the radio. I catch the faint scent of the warm, glowing tubes. I can hear their distinct hum as well. Increased levels of second hand smoke means that both my parents are home. There is no internet. No cell phones. No car alarms. No microwave oven. It starts to rain. My diaper smells like crap. Again. email: [email protected] web: www.michaeloster.com