sendak-wild-things
I love Maurice Sendak. I remember hot summers and cold rooms with strange blank and angry faces and boredom punctuated by stories of monsters and adventure. I remember reading “Where the Wild Things Are” at my local library as a kid. Summer seemed like it lasted a year and monsters seemed like they might be real. The library was a few blocks from my dad’s office and I got to go checkout books and sometimes stay there for hours.
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