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...a special childhood memory It was raining. The sky was mottled, like a charcoal sketch too often handled. My friend told me he had seen her, parked away from all the others, likely left there for the night. My mother couldn't comprehend the pounding in my chest, a giddy feeling overwelming me. With her permission I was town-bound in my Wellingtons and Pac-a-Mac, a young boy on a mission, starry-eyed, anticipating. At last I would complete the series, underline the only number missing from my list. There she was, forlorn, as if forgotten, in the ill-lit station yard. I touched her and I smelled her, like a long lost dog who'd wandered, just a number, such a number as to fill my heart with joy!