You don’t hear much these days about Old Paul. Not like you used to. Was a time when it was impossible to go three or four houses on your Steel Wool Route without hearing of Old Paul’s doings.

And they were mighty doings, indeed. Old Paul made many a friend at 7 feet, 2 inches tall. Wore those custom boots with laces up the back. Always had a riddle to tell or a nickel to swallow. And he was patient. You could talk at him for hours and hours, in person or on the telephone, about your wives and your wives’ habits and he’d listen and acknowledge your existence. Then offer ice cream – of any flavor. Yes.

Well as I said, you don’t hear much about Old Paul anymore. His sitting stool, specially carved from the Jackson tree due to his cursed height, stands alone, off to the side. And Mary’s rabbit farm, why it’s as rowdy as ever, except, the rabbits don’t seem as gentle as when Old Paul was naming each one after Old World Saints. And public executions just aren’t the same without Old Paul. Nope, no sir.

As it’s said, things keep changing.


About Chris Weagel

Chris Weagel writes about the intersection of technology and parenting for Wired Magazine. No he doesn’t. He can’t stand that shit.

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