Ghosts

I start and it feels like a ghost just whispered across my back. I don’t know who the boy is, but his gait as he walked through the door, the tilt of his head made me think it was JT. Except JT’s dead. His memorial services saw unprecedented numbers from C&W. Not surprising, given the man he was, and the goodwill, if not affection, he engendered amongst those whose lives he briefly touched. It’s not children, money or notoriety; It’s the lives you touch, however fleetingly, that are your legacy. We are his.