On Taunting Lacy Lou Last summer I strolled down the alley behind Avalon Street. It was decorated with the scent of freshly cut grass and the taste of bright sunshine. Tiny rocks dusted the pathway leading to a familiar backyard. Everything in the yard was kept desolate and unscathed. The fence was worn with hints of gray flashing through the once angelic white paint. My father had built the fence with an older tooth saw and sand- paper. He sweated and bled approximately two months to show the benefits of hard work. Daddy wished to instill strong morals and responsibility in his children, so the grass never grew more than two inches, and the puppy was always full. Now, the grass