Her name was Pinky. She was a leather-clad, motorcycle riding bad-ass. And she stood two inches tall.
Looking back, I realize she was a miniature Pinky Tuscadero from the TV show "Happy Days". Although, I don't know if I gave her origin much thought at the time. All I knew was that she was there whenever I needed her.
She accompanied me to the bathroom in my grandmother's house.
If I was in the car, she rode her motorcycle along the shadow of the power lines, doing front flips, back flips, and popping wheelies.
I cannot remember if I talked to Pinky out loud, but I do remember we always had two way discussions. I can't help but to think if Pinky were here today, and I was still that small child, if we would text each other instead. Or if she would even exist at all. With video games and all the other shit we have to keep our minds occupied these days, I wonder if children even have the time, or focus, to have an imagination.
Well said .... this is a sad truth!
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