I was raised in the shoe family of Januzzi's Shoes. The ditty on the radio in the 80's went something like this: "All over the street, to happy feet. Get your shoozies at Januzzi's."

For some, they put on their writer's hat. For me, I wear my writer's shoes.


Thursday, February 15, 2007

2/13/2007

AJW

The Chimney

The grey limestone chimney stands alongside a road named Marriott in Brown County, as if this were a path welcoming visitors to the well-known hotel chain. Portions of its brick have fallen away leaving indentations resembling eyes and nose. A makeshift mantle runs across the top of the hearth opening in a tight smile. The chimney’s façade easily morphs into the opening of an old amusement park attraction, the hall of mirrors where one perceives one self to be fat, skinny, tall or short but always alive on the other end. Within the gap, one can hide, reappear and disappear again. When the wind blows across this barren land and its lone memorial to former farmer’s home (?), a whiff of old smoke drifts across time and place.

It is here that the story of Marcus Fiesel ends or begins, depending on who you are. Whether you are the foster parents who are the alleged killers of little Marcus, the tawdry girlfriend of the foster father, the perplexing birth mother or whether one have been a bystander since the day of Marcus’ supposed disappearance in a Hamilton County Park. Either way, once a visit has been paid or a viewing had been made of this particular chimney, one remains innocent no more.

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