I am in Cumberland, Maryland, which is two hours west and many worlds away from Baltimore; it’s significant that the local cable system has DC channels, but no Baltimore ones.
I am staying in a Holiday Inn where I stayed twelve years ago. Maybe eleven, but I think it was twelve. It’s a great story — sad and funny and odd and sad again — and I realized it’s no longer mine to tell. It’s a story that makes me think of Michael Feinstein’s version of “Thanks for the Memories,” when he lowers his voice to a whisper:
And — strictly entre nous
Darling, how are you?
And how are all those little dreams that never did come true?
Anyone else here have stories to which they have relinquished their intellectual property rights, for want of a better term? Meanwhile, I’ll check my memory of those lyrics.