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Short Stories Based on Small Objects

Dick La Hoyt

They bought me the HO scale Dick’s Auto Body Shop even though I hadn’t ever expressed even the slightest interest in model trains.

“Your name is Dick. Ain’t that something?” Dad said. “I think Santa Claus had a few…whatdayacallem’…particulars on you, buddy.”

“GOD DAMMIT,” he added for no reason. Then he disappeared outside into the yard with a beer.

Mom was sitting at the kitchen table smoking a cigarette.

“It snaps together. Got them little trees on the side. Just snap ’em in there and you can write yourself a ticket to Lankywood.”

Mom put a soap opera on.

Ronnie and I built it in about ten minutes.

“That’s some stupid shit,” Ronnie said.


I don’t remember much else.

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