We’re the pathetic four of ’64; another dateless Friday night. Linda’s riding shotgun in Sherry’s Corvair with Dee and me crammed behind.
All have nothing better to do than visit some has-been celebrity just to watch T.V.
An older red haired greaser answered the door. Linda gulped, “Is Elvis home?”
Kathy Myers wrote a romance novel and loves the satisfaction of a good hard edit.