[This is the first story in a series of stories titled, The Continuing Story of the Integral Kids. The Integral Kids don’t know for certain if you’ll like them or not (the stories, not the Integral Kids—who wouldn’t like them?) but think that if you don’t like them you’ll definitely have a greater appreciation for why you don’t after you’ve read them, as well as for all those other things you don’t much care for, do care for, and life in general with all of its grand mysteries and wonders.] Integral: Necessary to make complete; essential or fundamental. Kid(s): A child or young person. You couldn’t make out distinct noises. Everything that gave off sound, even those things you wished you could isolate, that is—you would have wished you could isolate them if you knew those sounds were there—cause if you’d been aware of their presence your ears would have sent certain signals to your brain letting it know that those were the kinds of sounds that made life, life—all jumbled together to become one big whirling, twirling kaleidoscope. To give you more of an indication of it, it was the kind of situation that if you were to shout in a fella’s ear real close up, and that fella didn’t see you do it, then he’d probably not even notice; meaning, you could get away with a whole lot of stuff if you happened to be a particular type of person who liked getting away with particular type stuff when the situation allowed for it—or as those particular type people would say with a wink—called for it. This one kid though, Bobby, was a different kind...
