The same stories told over and over again make the best stories written down.

This is not true. If it was, my dad should have been a well-paid author. He had stacks of sewn, composition books titled, "Letters to my father," which I never got to read. He was very verbose. And my mom threw his books away as soon as he died.

I enjoyed the clique of Serbians who sit on their porch, smoking and talking in clear view of the dumpster in my apartment complex. They inspired me to write the above.