I was completely sure that I had felt a zipper on that cat's stomach.

But Tommy was settled back into his armchair.

His coffee cup and saucer close to his chest, Heather, sipped hers next to me, then cleared

her throat.

So, we were hoping you could tell us about the events of 1980.

1980.

Tommy repeated, grinning that same manic grin.

A great year, shame about Lenin, though, my parents loved the Beatles.

Heather paused.

She, like me, probably couldn't tell if the strange man was joking.

That is, until he let out a high-pitched, frantic giggle of a laugh, his body convulsed and

his cup teetered on the China.

Though this was disturbing to say the least, Heather and I both were able to work up a nervous

laugh.

Tommy's cackling subdued, and he wiped an invisible tear from the corner of his eye.

I'm kidding, of course.

Does the joke.

He regained his composure.

You want to know about July of 1980?

What happened with me and the others?

Those three days right here in Rhodes Creek.

He took another sip of coffee, and I felt myself subconsciously lean forward with anticipation.

...