When I walk alone along the streets in unfamiliar places, and see the doors of houses that line my way, I think of a house I used to know, and a door I lived behind. A door that last I closed in anger, a long, long time ago. And now, I can't remember why. I only know I never did go back; though I knew someone inside was crying. I never did go back. And now, it's too late to try. Jim Metcalf