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The heels of Carl's Cole-Hahn shoes clicked with a surprising resonance off the walkway as he approached the front porch steps of this house he had not visited in 25 years. The city's elite and powerful had long since migrated to country estates and inner-city lofts leaving the neighborhood to the upper middle class and those who had planned their retirements well. While a good number of the expansive homes showed the neglect that often accompanies the absence of full-time gardeners and caretakers, this particular house, with it's perfectly manicured lawns and shrubbery could have as easily graced the pages of a home and garden magazine today as in it's prime in the early 50's. In fact, it seemed to Carl that as he had passed through the front gate, he had entered a time capsule, and the only thing that had changed since 1979 was him.

The last time he had passed up this walkway, his sneakers had left his footsteps nearly undetected, and his button-fly levis and rugby shirt, had not emitted the casual swish that slacks of his Hugo Boss suit and tailor made shirt did on this day. As a painfully shy and meek boy of 17 though, Carl had treasured his anonymity. Lanky, and inept at sports, he was certain to lack popularity in high school circles, but the fact that a violin case accompanied him nearly everywhere had made him the target of ridicule and had ensured an almost total lack of companionship through those difficult years. As any attention from his peers was likely as not to be bad, he had felt that his survival had depended on his chameleon like ability to blend with his surroundings. ...

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