“Loud music is against our town ordinance,” one kid said.

“You didn’t complain when Valerie played her stereo,” another answered.

“That was good music. The stuff you play on your guitar sounds like a walrus caught in a steel trap,” the first retorted.

Cal and I chuckled.

6/10/08—I went back to Kidsboro today and was greeted rather rudely. “Freeze, Turkey!” A tall girl spun me around, pushed me up against a tree and confiscated the slingshot in my back pocket. “I’m a Kidsboro police officer, and this weapon is illegal within city limits.”

She dragged me to the nearby field and threw me into a “jail” constructed of tree branches. I couldn’t believe it. When I got up this morning, I had no idea I’d be a felon. The girl towered over my prison and stared at me through the branches. To ease the tension, I said, “You have lovely eyes.”

She cracked her knuckles. “Are you flirting with an officer of the law?”

“No . . . Ma’am. Of course not.” I stayed quiet after that.

Jail time gives you an opportunity to think. As horrible as my prison experience was, I thought it was kind of cool that kids had set up this town and established rules. I looked out on Kidsboro—every kid had his own clubhouse. There’s a church, a bank and a rec center with a pingpong table. It didn’t seem like a bad place to live.

After an hour, the mayor, a 13-year-old named Ryan, came by. “Let him go, Alice.” Alice, the towering one, opened the jail door, and I was free. “We take our town pretty seriously,” Ryan said.

I nodded. “I noticed. You run a nice place here.”

“Thanks,” he said. “Now stay out of trouble, Son.”

—A.J. out!