The Prodigal Son
I remember everything about that day. The time, the place, the weather......even what I had for breakfast in the morning. 'Stop it. Stop it right there, your memory is good for nothing Tom, everybody knows that'. You're right, my memory is terrible, but I do, I really do remember everything and that's probably because this was one of those times when I immensely regretted not listening to my mother's advice. 'Eat a little bit more, wear something long sleeved,COMB YOUR HAIR.......DOOFUS! I should've listened to her. Instead, here I was at the Jalahalli bus station, wearing a thin shirt as crisp as the chilly air of Bangalore in December with nothing except for a tiny little cheese sandwich to fuel the furnace in my belly, rubbing my hands together to keep warm, looking like a complete, total, 100%, absolute, Doofus. I was still a teenager back then. Man, 2005 was a really long, long time ago. The tiny tremor against my chest meant