“So, Oscar, what is it – that subtle quality – that separates attraction and repulsion?” Oscar’s mom queried.
She had told Oscar one day over vanilla ice cream and fresh, crispy okra that she would rather hear someone tell a story – any story – than eat, sleep or work. And, she reminded Oscar, she’d heard some whoppers. Oscar thought it would be interesting, since his mom sometimes sold real estate, if she would go into some of the empty houses on her listing and cover the walls with some of these stories. Oscar chomped on the strawberry seed still in his mouth.
“I thinks it’s a matter of saturation,” he said as they passed a huge bank of blooming, pink azaleas.