I’m a father of two boys and one girl. At an early age they developed an unpredictable and insatiable interest in stories about almost everything. I’m a grandfather now and, whatever the clichés, my grandkids thirst for stories. Oz begs me to tell him stories, and I do it almost anytime or anywhere. We started with stories about his family. I occasionally make up stories around my simple understanding of biology (there was a series of stories about pythons, for example). Grandmas riding horses, daddies taking sons to frozen yoghurt stores; I told him about all my dogs when I was a boy. Pythons; coyotes (that we see in Echo Park); rats and snakes: these are stories for boys (and girls). When I tell a story, I wave my arms like a snake, open my hands like a mouth, widen my eyes, and exaggerate every feeling. I’m leaving only the words here. I can’t tell if it’s the words or the performance he likes, but I suspect it’s more the former than the latter. I leave stories here for you to tell again, to elaborate (simply), to name your streets and neighbors and friends and towns instead of mine. Let’s tell the stories, and share what works best.