I gaze down from the summit of a quarter of a century, living in the Kingdom of the Yankee, all the accumulated losses and guilts and shames and rages, the loves come and gone, and death, ravenous death, ....long dead, buried under a mimosa on the hill in our cemetery far away, and I am caught ever so briefly in a frieze of old time, skinny and tall and seventeen, and the senior year stretching before me as a Lewis Carroll dream, beckoning; “Come Lad.” 
Willie Morris from Always Stand In Against the Curve

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