Barbies

Ken’s head made a satisfying pop when it was pulled from his body, followed by a delicious squish as my molars met polyvinyl chloride. One day we played circus, using the storm drain as a trapeze. After a death-defying leap, Ken landed safely on the curb but his head, now more bobble than throb, splashed into the sewer. I ran home, leaving my fellow guttersnipes to direct traffic. With a coat hanger and a deft hand Laurette retrieved the head. It poached for weeks in a jar of alcohol. After that, Ken was only a ghost of his former self.