A Place to Tell Lies

Building a hut is a typical practice for any normal creature growing up in Sugar City. A boy needs to have a private place, a place to tell lies, a place to hide when the Mother is upset, a place to imagine wonders still awaiting. Well, Jerry and I had a hut. It wasn't a shoddy, splintery, wooden hut. It wasn't constructed of cardboard or flimsy material that was the usual hut-making stuff. Our hut was made of bricks. Remember that smokestack story. Well, it really existed. The smoke stack was no longer used, and some felt it was a danger (dangerous only if your mother catches you there). The stack's lot was cast, and a well-placed charge diminished the size and altered the shape of said smokestack. No more stack...but loads and loads of bricks. It just didn't seem right to have those precious bricks lie about unloved. So, two boys with more time than sense decided to build a hut, a hut made of bricks. This was no mean effort.
The height and spaciousness had to be right. Aesthetics were essential. The plan was made and massive project was begun. First of all, the hut was placed conveniently by the pile of bricks and within earshot of the Mother's beckoning...but far enough from the Mother's constant attention. Like toiling Israelites we transported the bricks to the building site. With care and attention we set a firm foundation for our structure. Layer by layer, the interlaced bricks rose skyward. With one large room and a very handy entrance hall the hut was nearly habitable. A roof was needed. Without a roof our villainous intentions would be visible to light of day. Proper scrounging supplied plywood scraps that when fitted with some imagination; the roof was complete. It was great! Our very own fortress against the real world.