Iwish to take you on a journey where planes, ships and cars cannot carry you, a journey straight to my imagination . Believe me when you start reading finishing would be the last thing on your mind.

This story is based on a street/homeless boy name Timmy whom I once met.

It was September 3rd 1965 that I first met him……. oh well let me go back a bit with my life back then and then we’d get right down to “Tim”

As I type my mind goes way back I can still smell the coffee that use to emanate from Malay’s cafe on # 30 Wicker Street, Hudson Boulevard. You know the coffee that you’d taste by just smelling, well that’s the type am talking about… the fresh morning breeze still sends chills up my spine, the fragrance of those lovely flowers. In Mr. Bookie’s garden oh I loved the scent of those daffodils and pink roses.

Every morning I would get up say my prayer, do the usual and head out to the veranda to read my news paper and gazed up at the lovely blue sky. Sometimes I would lose myself in those white fluffy clouds thinking of this that and the other. I’d come back to earth when I heard someone yelled out my name while passing by , good morning Mrs. Walters I’d look to see who called me and answer back good morning darling, or doo doo something nice to send them off.

Around 3:00pm at evening times I would go for a walk in the park to get some exercise for my old bones, you know at age sixty the old age symptoms starts to rush in with speed and momentum. Anyway while walking one evening I noticed a boy huddle up by one of the oak trees looking dirty, grimy and ragged he was trembling like crazy. I guess he was super cold especially with those little tattered clothes he wore…. and of course it was our rainy season. I gazed at him for awhile and then continued about my business, but for some reason my curiosity kept pecking at me to inquire more of who might have left that poor child to suffer in such a manner.