as if in his sleep, he has somehow aged from a bright-eyed juvenile song-and-dance artist into a street-hardened, less often shaved and brilliantined specimen, one that the most level-headed of starlets these days might have trouble keeping still for even a couple bars of being crooned to by, Hicks finds himself ambling along the old worn pathways that lead into whatever the label “civilian” is currently being used for, a nationwide consensus including house chores on weekends, a dutiful ear to the radio, a disinclination to pick up any lengthier of a rap sheet than he’s already got.
