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Six weeks later, after a month of thumbing through England and Scotland, I arrived in France with my buddy, Bill.
The year 1961 – a long time ago to most – was pivotal in my life.
For four days Lindy and I partied twelve hours a day, getting to know one another, until I was about to take an extended train trip north to Scandinavia.
Unlike me, she had unlimited funds, and I felt uncomfortable – like a paid babysitter – when I was with her.
My hell-raising high school years were a thing of personal adolescent legend, though like most youthful behavior the stories were far bigger than reality.
At base, my reckless image was a harmless projection I used to cover my innate shyness and lack of confidence.