For those of you who know me, I wrote something almost a year ago about an alley. For me, it provided meaning, substance, and an unworthy completion to this world.  Luckily, and happily, I’ve lived another year to see it again.

I can still see the alley, but not from my room.  I wish for it to remain in my thoughts and dreams.  My wife, Brittney, and I are staying at the same place I found my fortune in peace one year ago, and she told me to visit Cricket Alley once again. I wish my sister, Maggie, and my brother, Tom, and so many friends could visit.   They can’t.  I can’t.  Sometimes, you don’t wish for good sequels, because they don’t come true.  Rather, you dream about them, only to believe the second one is that much better.

Rocky Two was ok.  Jaws Two stunk.  India Jones, although entertaining, compared to the first, was The Temple of Doomed. I took a peek at our Alley today, and I knew it was meant for One sacred day. I left our alley alone.  There are no sequels in India.

Ben