Another Man, a Different Man

Who am I I might think sometimes? Who could I be I have thought, remember having heard myself saying, in-loud and out. Who would I be if, could I be if, could have been if . . .? What? This is the follow-up.

We do wonder; we have wandered long and far–meaning? I am that I am. I am who I am when and where I am even if I have forgotten everything that I was or have been. The person I am in total amnesia is the person I want to find. But I do remember much . . . how much, someone other than me might say, to whom would be irrelevant to the point herein being made.

I bought my father penny rolls to roll for me my pennies. I have collected pennies in empty cans for years I cannot count. I couldn’t possibly do it myself. The tedium would kill me. My father is a different man.

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