Between my house and this bad mansard is an apartment complex. Behind the apartments is a strange grassy common area flanked by hilly woods; an suburban valley of sorts. The neighborhood kids would walk from our granny-named streets (I kid you not- Dorothy, Eulalie, Rosalie, Henrietta, etc) in search of donuts. Good times. I still love donuts.
Really good times were had on the grassy portion between Dunkin and my house. Like most kids lucky enough to have an expanse of grass and woods, we worked the space. We played the usual games like King of the Hill, camping and house. Oh, and missing persons games like run-away child, hunting dog and fugitive chase. Doesn't every kid play fugitive? With a real dog? The game consisted of one kid hiding and the rest of us running through the woods and field with dogs to hunt the kid down. The fugitive would be jailed or the run away child returned to her terrible parents.
My most vivid memory the area is walking through wet grass from our house to the apartments in search of a Jour-Nal (again with the French) for my mother. I hated getting the Journal because I thought I was stealing it. Of course, when I finally owned a house at age 29, I figured out the Journal was free. D'oh!