It was lonely. I suppose it was just adolescent agonizing over the search for independence and existential meaning, while simultaneously longing for acceptance and inclusion from kids my age. You know, the usual.
1959. I’m awakened by the sound of a woman shrieking. I jump out of bed, peer out the window and see a police car parked dark and silent against the curb in front of the house directly across the street. All is quiet now, and in almost no time the crickets start up again. I…