I saw Dicky Trotter walking down our street undeath the brightest blue skies with a brisk, cold wind.
It's no small feat because Dicky's dead.
Sitting on the porch holding a pipe in one hand and a Bic lighter in the other, I'm happily taking my pain medication when I see him strolling pass our house on the other side of the street.
Looking like he's lost a few pounds, it's Dicky, seemingly in a hurry, glancing my way flashing that crazy bemused grin of his with the stupid wave.
"Hello Dicky Trotter!" I say out loud.
For a second there we're together again, in sort of a "mash-up" of every moment we'd ever shared bursting like a fireworks in front of my eyes; every feeling exchanged between us exploding and, for a nanosecond, perhaps a million years, he's as alive as he ever was!
Exhaling a long white cloud, the skies are suddenly blue again, the street's empty and I return to the music streaming in my head and wonder what Sarah's doing.
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