Kenny
‘Kenny? Kenny Jacobs, is that you?’ Ken looked over at the person who had seated herself beside him on the bench. His first impression was of nice well-tanned legs in open sandals and as his gaze moved up, he saw that the rest of her was just as nice. When he got to her face he saw the lines, slight wrinkles, and the hint of gray in the brown hair indicative of middle age, nothing severe, but noticeable. ‘I’m sorry ma’am, do I know you?’ ‘Kenny, it’s Marcia Friedman, I was your history...