“Beatle on the Bench”I knew the sound of his voice. The world knew his voice. So how could it be remotely possible John Lennon was sitting next to me playing his Epiphone Acoustic Guitar? Nobody would ever believe me. They would call me b****y crazy for saying I could see and hear the voice of one of the Beatles. Forget about my visions of Marilyn Monroe, James Dean and Horace Walpole. They’d lock me up for good and throw away the key if I told anybody about those otherworldly visits. And now I was seeing John Lennon.
I watched the ripples of the Thames River dancing with the passing curly-cue clouds above Horace Walpole’s monstrous estate. The seashell bench we sat on offered a view sure to be envied by anybody who pursued peace. I had run to my private place of solitude on the bench aft
