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The Flintstones




Sometimes I wish I could go back to this time. The sounds, the songs, that time of the afternoon, at home safe and happy. A repetitive familiarity. A numbness, a boundary. No need for wanting to be older, because I was a kid and this was all I knew. Food made by my mum; all I had to do was eat it. There was nothing more to do but to laugh and wait for the next cartoon show to play.

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