Posted on January 12, 2016
Last month I took Malcolm and Andrew to the apartment in Italy where my Driveway story happened, back in the 1960s when I was eight or nine. I wasn’t sure I had the correct side of the street, but Andrew walked around the corner with me into the street below. I heard voices that sounded like the voices from that night when the neighborhood came to see the fallen car that could have killed someone but didn’t. We were in the right place.