OK, it fell out like this. I'm looking through the bookshelf that has all the magazines and comics I'm in, trying to find AFTER HOURS#25 so I can read "Augusta Boulevard, Sunday Afternoon" at TwilightTales tomorrow. And what did I find? My long lost Eartha Kitt CD. I've been playing it for hours because it gives me memories of years gone by. As I type this, she's singing "Santa, Baby" (half a century ago!), but I won't skip past it, even though I despise winter. I'm also past my meeting with destiny. I walked to see Jessica today, gave her my speech that would have worked better Friday, plus she has my phone number and email. I made her smile in a way I've never seen before, so I know she knows I know she's thinking about whatever the hell it was I said to her. But. God help me, she was born the year my first story was reprinted in Year's Best Horror:XIV. I'm turning into Philip K. Dick. Where have the years gone? 50 years since Eartha Kitt sang "C'est Si Bon" and "I Want To Be Evil." I feel like walking the streets at night like Rorschach from WATCHMEN, asking people when I got so old...Wayne
