I had decided that it was someone else at my doorstep, leaving the morbid reminders and singing that damned song, someone who knew my past with Joey and wanted to torment me with it. Then we entered The Lounge, and in the scattering of mental defectives and visitors I found him immediately. He had changed physically of course, he was no longer a child but a middle-aged man. I never would have recognized him if I hadn’t seen him walking down my street only two nights earlier. He was narrow at the shoulders, stick thin arms swimming in long, green coat sleeves. The shirt beneath was white, dull with age and thin from years of constant wash and wear. His pants were also green, baggy, held up by a fraying cloth belt. He appeared frail, wasted away. He wore old slippers instead of shoes
