By John J. Galloway
Earl’s boy wasn’t like the other boys in the neighborhood, the ones that raced each other to the old diamond every day after school, or hunted with their daddies when spring came around. No, Earl’s boy was different, or at least different than he was at that age.
He was named Earl, too, but little Earl never had much use for the name. He called himself Vincent after some long-dead painter, and spent all of his time locked away in his room with paint and brushes while the other boys were out playing and fighting. But he never painted anything real. Big Earl bought fruit and flowers for him to paint, like he had seen in the art books, but Vincent didn’t care. His idea of art was slathering a fuss of odd shapes and colors on the canvas, and Earl could never make any sense of it.[Read more…] about Pebbles for Vincent