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[A Walk]
 

     "Bet you it did," I started again.
     "Bet you it didn't," David responded.
     "Bet you it did."
     "Bet you it didn't."
     "Okay," The conversation grew more stubborn.  We stopped our pace for a second, turned to him and challenged, "How much you wanna bet?"
     "Whatever," he declined, "I know it didn't."
     The conversation carried on for another couple of minutes until it metamorphed to something just slightly different.  David Chan and I were on another one of our common excursions of exploration.  Journeying off to different parts of New York City was a touch more than mere excitement compared to sticking around the Eighth Avenue neighborhood of Bay Ridge, Brooklyn.
     This time, we decided to take one of our common trips to Eighty-sixth Street and shop through the record bins for any new inexpensive music purchases.  Neither of us had more than ten dollars in our pockets.  This is what our parents would leave for us laying on the dining room table as they were busy at work.  Usually, the money was to cover after school meals and necessities, but instead, we usually got cheap roast beef sandwiches, played video games, and times like these, took special trips to go buy records.
     "Look at that," David pointed ot the sidewalk underneath him.
     "Yeah?"
     "Notice how they make it just the right length?"
     "Huh?" I was still mystified.
     "The right length,"  David pointed down at his feet as we traveled at our casual pace.
     I watched as he exaggerated his steps along the ground.
     "There," he continued, "Step.  Step."
     "I still don't see it."
     "No cracks.  Step.  Step.  And I skip the crack.  Step.  Step.  There, again, no crack.  I don't have to step on the crack."  He was satisfied not stepping on any cracks between the concrete slabs making up the sidewalk.  Myself, equally as impressed, felt the same way.
 

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