Right next to the childhood playhouses in the yard stands their owner, a thirteen-year-old boy
Not for sale
Here will be an old memory of my childhood about how I, then still a real child, spent my time during the school summer holidays, while that summer of 1997 was still going on. And although alone, but at the same time, one could say so, and quite fun, interesting, and unique. After those painful nighttime thefts of my toys committed here last year, this year those Bakšėnai children never poked their noses into my yard again, from now on, all those brick playhouses of my childhood in the center of the yard, under the apple tree and next to the currant bush, were only my and my only personal possession. Where I could house both my old leftover, plastic toys outside, under a cozy and safe shelter from the rain, as well as my own cut-outs of paper toys, and all sorts of other children's cars that I had. I called this area of the brick house yard the Neverauskas family homestead. And around this imaginary village homestead, there were also the family's "fields of cultivated land" - plots o
