Hang in There, Rick!
When things can’t get any lower, I always turn to one Richard Blaine, American. And Power Animal. All-new CITD post next Friday, Oct. 3!
He was there just when I needed him most.
Tuesday, Jan. 17, 1978: Skeeze was talking me off my latest emotional ledge in our high school’s empty band room.
I’d been at home sick the previous day, and reported coming back to school “really depressed, angry and downhearted” because Kim had gotten back together with her boyfriend, and Stephanie and I seemed to be on the outs.
And the “he” wasn’t even Skeeze—although Skeeze was doing his best.
Everything that afternoon “seemed to topple…I almost broke into tears…nervous, shaky, scared.” After Skeeze left—Boom!A hand clamped down on my shoulder. He seemed to settle into his double-breasted white dinner jacket: One Richard Blaine, American, age 37.
Cannot return to his homeroom. The reason’s a little vague, but I’m glad he’s there just the same.
He shrugs. “Look, kid. Hear you been having trouble with the ladies. Take my advice:…
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Completely in the Dark 