A Breath Of Lucifer
July, 1969
Sam was only a voice to me, a rich, reverberating baritone. His whispers themselves possessed a solid, rumbling quality. I often speculated, judging from his voice, what he might look like: The possessor of such a voice could be statuesque, with curls falling on his nape, Roman nose, long legs able to cover the distance from my bed to the bathroom in three strides, although to me it seemed an endless journey. I asked him on the very first day, "What do you look like?""How can I sa...
