So I cleaned out some boxes of stuff in my garage and found this, “Little Black Book” circa my senior year of college, 1985. This was before computers, dating sites, cell phones and the like, and I needed something to keep track of all the women I was dating at the time.
Anyway, I went thumbing through the pages. Down memory lane.
Wow, I thought to myself. I remember Holly. Wonder what ever happened to her!
Oh jeez…Joy. What a kook that girl was…
And then in one single solitary second, my universe came to a crashing stop right then and there in my garage as I turned to the letter, ‘N’.
It was that handwriting. I’d know it anywhere.
When? How? For God’s sake…Why? Is nothing sacred?