When I was young I would go over to Jimmy's house. I went again years later and I was busy all afternoon finding the street where Jimmy lived. Jimmy's father opened the door and shook my hand. He hadn't changed. He told me he was Jimmy and he (Jimmy's father) was dead. Had been for years. For years. He wasn't Jimmy. Jimmy would know. He wouldn't sit and lie about the things we did; about the things I knew we didn't and couldn't do. Jimmy's father wouldn't tell me where Jimmy lived. He kept talking about himself.
Sandie Angel a.k.a. May Lu :o)