“Are you going to be my bassist?” he asked.“I’d like that.”“Cool. I’ll show you what I’ve got.”“I’m thinking of writing a musica... for Charlie. For Morpheus. For its final show.”“And you want me to write the tunes.”“Maybe we can write everything together.”“You trust me working on the book?”“If you can trust me working on the lyrics. The music will be all yours of course.”“And you can be producer/director.”“Yeah.”Joe told him about the Little Prince idea.“Where would an adolescent kid meet an. There wasn't even a fragment of the old me visible, not even thetiniest shred that I could hang on to for comfort. It wasn't acataclysmic event from which there was no return, I could alwaysundress, shower, and be myself again, yet strangely, I found myselfnot wanting that. Every moment leading up the that point had beennothing but a shower of turbulent feelings ranging from flat outdenial to anger, then to joy when I saw myself, each adding to mygrowing inner confusion. As my sister and I. More

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