There were moments when he felt like he had lived another life. He had flashbacks to memories that he shouldn’t remember; that he had never experienced.

Maybe he was just some punk kid hanging out in 1976, at the Rolling Acres Mall, thinking up his next plan to get the girl next door?

Was he some unknown rebel without a cause who died trying to get back at the world, trying to prove his point? Dead on impact in a fiery crash?

There were far to many circumstances that found him questioning his reality. What was real? Was there some other dimension where he was true?

Was he living a double life?!? He would wrestle with his conscience as if he were a mad man.

Why would certain people, scenes, and smells come so familiar?

Maybe he just wished he was from other place in time. A place were he could be himself, where he was accepted for who he was and what he believed in, and where he felt safe and loved.

Maybe he missed this place wherever it was, whether factual or fictional.

Maybe he wanted desperately to feel alive again?

It could have been that he was just looking for a simpler life where people were more genuine and cared about one another. A life where what you said mattered, a phone call meant something, and being romantic was the way to a girls heart.

Teleport me back to my 1955 silver Porsche, please no thank you…