Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes (Turn and face the strain)
I picked up Dickens' ashes today. As if I tiny little scab that you'd had some success getting your kid to stop picking at, suddenly gets caught while he's playing in the grass, taking all that fresh, pink granulated skin with it.I made it to the grocery store and laundry, ashes in hand before breaking down at home. They stuck them in this little metal tin with flowers printed on the outside, 'cause I didn't want to pay for one of their urns. My plan is to hunt through the antique stores of Manhattan and find an appropriate vessel for him. He deserves nothing less as my companion for 16 years. In the mean time, they'll sit on the book shelf behind glass, hopefully free of dust. Man, I can't believe how much I miss him.
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