"A dinosaur skull," shouted L—.
"Lemme see!" J— snatched it, turned it around and around. Sneered and hauled back his arm, threw the rock as far down the alley as a Wrigley outfielder.
L— shrieked and grabbed at J—'s shoulder.
"That was mine!"
"Dumb you, dumb rock!"
"My dinosaur!"
Momma rolled her eyes, grabbed both boys in one arm, dug deep in her purse for the little bottle of alcohol and lotion, found and squeezed and rubbed the wintery gel all over their hands.
"Picking up who knows what," she muttered.
"A dinosaur," sulked L—.
"Heck," J— scoffed, got a tap on his head from Momma for the swear.
But I picked it up later, so that's all right.
