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I flew into the Albany Airport: Albany, New York.
I grew up in Schenectady, New York. I was in the city of Schenectady and then in a suburb, Niskayuna.
I consider myself a “city kid.”
I never really became a “suburban” kid.
I stood on the corner of Morningside Ave., and Rugby Road.
It was perhaps a seminal part of my life, that corner.
I was four and my friend, Johnny Goodman, was three, I believe.
We shouldn’t have been there, but we were , attempting to cross the road.
Johnny wandered into the road and was hit by a middle-aged man in a 1948 Ford. Johnny died later in the hospital as a result of his injuries. I have no direct recollection of what happened, my brain went into some sort of trauma repair.
The other scenario that I have is that I told Johnny to go into the road for whatever fucked up reason I can concoct. That idea did not occur to me until years later when I decided I may have done that.