Sloshing about my apartment in the wee hours of the night, I was half-committed to backing out on my deal with Garrett when that damn photograph caught my eye. The 1929 University of Michigan swim team photo of my grandfather given to me by my mother, recklessly lying upside down on the floor of my barren living room. It had sat there for months with nary a glance. But suddenly it was speaking to me, calling sharply through the glaze of my inebriation. Picking it up, I carefully rehung it on the naked wall above. And just stared. The sepia-toned maize and blue glory of my doppelgänger Richard
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