About 'edward waters college'|...from left over petroleum, and tooth paste and ice water, I still know enough to recall that all ...Batman forever. I saw the grand parody, Blake Edwards never so perfect again, with an almost...

Ｄａｖｉｄ               ｍａｄｅ               ｎｏ               ｌｅｓｓ               ｔｈａｎ               ｔｈｒｅｅ               ｓｅａ               ｖｏｙａｇｅｓ               ｉｎ               1975,               ｔｗｏ               ａｓ               ａ               ｃｉｖｉｌｉａｎ               ａｎｄ               ｏｎｅ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｔｈｅ               ＲＮＲ,               ａｓ               ｗｅｌｌ               ａｓ               ｓｐｅｎｄｉｎｇ               ａ               ｗｅｅｋ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｔｈｅｍ               ｄｏｃｋｅｄ               ａｔ               ｔｈｅ               Ｐｏｏｌ               ｏｆ               Ｌｏｎｄｏｎ.
Ｔｈｅ               ｆｉｒｓｔ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅｓｅ               ｗａｓ               ｔｏ               Ａｍｓｔｅｒｄａｍ,               ｖｉａ               Ｅｄｉｎｂｕｒｇｈ               ａｎｄ               Ｓｔ.

Ｍａｌｏ,               ｏｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｔｈｒｅｅ-ｍａｓｔｅｄ               ｔｏｐｓａｉｌ               ｓｃｈｏｏｎｅｒ               ＴＳ               Ｓｉｒ               Ｗｉｎｓｔｏｎ               Ｃｈｕｒｃｈｉｌｌ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               Ｓａｉｌ               Ｔｒａｉｎｉｎｇ               Ａｓｓｏｃｉａｔｉｏｎ,               ｎｏｗ               ｋｎｏｗｎ               ａｓ               ｔｈｅ               Ｔａｌｌ               Ｓｈｉｐｓ               Ｔｒｕｓｔ.

Ｂａｓｅｄ               ｉｎ               Ｐｏｒｔｓｍｏｕｔｈ               ａｎｄ               Ｌｉｖｅｒｐｏｏｌ,               ｔｈｅ               ＴＳＴ               ｗａｓ               ｆｏｕｎｄｅｄ               ｉｎ               1956               ｆｏｒ               ｔｈｅ               ｃｈａｒａｃｔｅｒ               ｄｅｖｅｌｏｐｍｅｎｔ               ｏｆ               ｙｏｕｎｇ               ｐｅｏｐｌｅ               ａｇｅｄ               16               ｔｏ               25               ｔｈｒｏｕｇｈ               ｔｈｅ               ｃｒｅｗｉｎｇ               ｏｆ               ｔｒａｄｉｔｉｏｎａｌ               ｔａｌｌ               ｓｈｉｐｓ,               ｔｈｅ               ｏｒｉｇｉｎａｌ               ｔｗｏ               ｂｅｉｎｇ               ｔｈｅ               ａｆｏｒｅｓａｉｄ               Ｃｈｕｒｃｈｉｌｌ               ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅ               ＳＳ               Ｍａｌｃｏｌｍ               Ｍｉｌｌｅｒ.
Ａｍｏｎｇ               ｈｉｓ               ｓｈｉｐｍａｔｅｓ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｈｉｓ               17               ｙｅａｒ               ｏｌｄ               ｂｒｏｔｈｅｒ,               Ｄａｎｅ,               ｓｅｖｅｒａｌ               ｙｏｕｎｇ               ｍｅｎ               ｆｒｏｍ               Ｓｃｏｔｌａｎｄ               ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｎｏｒｔｈ               ｏｆ               Ｅｎｇｌａｎｄ,               ｓｏｍｅ               ｒｅｃｅｎｔ               ｒｅｃｒｕｉｔｓ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ＲＮ,               ａｎｄ               ａ               ｈａｎｄｆｕｌ               ｏｆ               ｏｌｄｅｒ               "ｍａｔｅｓ"               ｗｈｏ'ｄ               ｂｅｅｎ               ｇｉｖｅｎ               ａｕｔｈｏｒｉｔｙ               ｏｖｅｒ               ｔｈｅ               ｒａｎｋ               ａｎｄ               ｆｉｌｅ               ｏｆ               ｄｅｃｋ               ｈａｎｄｓ.

Ｉｎ               ｏｖｅｒａｌｌ               ｃｈａｒｇｅ,               ｔｈｏｕｇｈ,               ｗａｓ               ｔｈｅ               ｃｏｎｓｐｉｃｕｏｕｓｌｙ               ｅｌｅｇａｎｔ               Ｓｈｉｐ'ｓ               Ｃａｐｔａｉｎ,               ｗｈｏ               ａｌｓｏ               ｈａｐｐｅｎｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｂｅ               ａｎ               ａｌｕｍｎｕｓ               ｏｆ               Ｄａｖｉｄ'ｓ               ｏｗｎ               ａｌｍａ               ｍａｔｅｒ               ｏｆ               Ｐａｎｇｂｏｕｒｎｅ.
Ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ａｎ               ａｌｌ-ｍａｌｅ               ｃｒｅｗ,               ａｎｄ               Ｄａｖｉｄ               ｗａｓ               ｑｕｉｔｅ               ｗｅｌｌ-ｌｉｋｅｄ               ａｔ               ｆｉｒｓｔ,               ａｌｔｈｏｕｇｈ               ｈｉｓ               ｐｏｐｕｌａｒｉｔｙ               ｆａｄｅｄ               ｉｎ               ｔｉｍｅ,               ｗｉｔｈ               ｏｎｌｙ               ａ               ｆｅｗ               ｐａｌｓ               ｒｅｍａｉｎｉｎｇ               ｈｉｍ...ｓｕｃｈ               ａｓ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｍａｌｌ               ｃｈｅｒｕｂｉｃ               ｓｏｕｔｈｅｒｎｅｒ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｌｏｎｇ               ｄａｒｋ               ｈａｉｒ               ｗｏｒｎ               ｓｈｏｕｌｄｅｒ               ｌｅｎｇｔｈ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｔｈｅ               ｙｏｕｎｇ               Ｊａｃｋ               Ｗｉｌｄｅ,               ｗｈｏ               ｓｔａｙｅｄ               ａ               ｇｏｏｄ               ｆｒｉｅｎｄ               ｏｆ               ｈｉｓ               ａｆｔｅｒ               ｔｈｅｙ'ｄ               ｔｒｉｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｉｍｐｒｅｓｓ               ａ               ｃｏｕｐｌｅ               ｏｆ               ｇｉｒｌｓ               ｔｏｇｅｔｈｅｒ               ｄｕｒｉｎｇ               ａ               ｂｒｉｅｆ               ｓｔａｙ               ｉｎ               Ｓｔ               Ｍａｌｏ,               Ｆｒａｎｃｅ.

Ｈｅ               ｇｏｔ               ｏｎ               ｆｉｎｅ               ｗｉｔｈ               ａ               ｆｅｗ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｏｔｈｅｒｓ,               ａｎｄ               ｓｏｍｅ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｍｅｒｅｌｙ               ｉｎｄｉｆｆｅｒｅｎｔ,               ｂｕｔ               'Ｊａｃｋ'               ｗａｓ               ａ               ｔｒｕｅ               ｐｒｉｎｃｅ               ｗｈｏ'ｄ               ｈｅｌｐｅｄ               ｈｉｍ               ｏｕｔ               ｉｎ               ｈｉｓ               ｔｉｍｅ               ｏｆ               ｎｅｅｄ:
               Ｗｈａｔ               ｈａｐｐｅｎｅｄ               ｉｓ               ｔｈａｔ               Ｄａｖｉｄ               ｈａｄ               ｆａｌｌｅｎ               ｈａｒｄ               ｆｏｒ               ｏｎｅ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｇｉｒｌｓ,               Ｆｒａｎｃｏｉｓｅ,               ａｎｄ               ｗａｓ               ｗａｎｄｅｒｉｎｇ               ａｒｏｕｎｄ               ｉｎ               ａ               ｍｏｕｒｎｆｕｌ               ｄａｚｅ               ａｆｔｅｒ               ｈａｖｉｎｇ               ｆａｉｌｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｐｌｕｃｋ               ｕｐ               ｔｈｅ               ｃｏｕｒａｇｅ               ｔｏ               ａｓｋ               ｈｅｒ               ｆｏｒ               ｈｅｒ               ａｄｄｒｅｓｓ:
               "Ｏｈ,               Ｉ               ｒｅａｌｌｙ               ｌｉｋｅ               Ｆｒａｎｃｏｉｓｅ,"               ｈｅ               ｗｈｉｎｅｄ,               ｏｖｅｒ               ａｎｄ               ｏｖｅｒ               ａｇａｉｎ,               ｂｕｔ               ｈｉｓ               ｍｉｓｅｒｙ               ｗａｓ               ｇｅｎｕｉｎｅ.

Ｔｈａｔ               ｉｓ,               ｕｎｔｉｌ               Ｊａｃｋ               ｈａｎｄｅｄ               ｈｉｍ               ａ               ｐｉｅｃｅ               ｏｆ               ｐａｐｅｒ               ｃｏｎｔａｉｎｉｎｇ               Ｆｒａｎｃｏｉｓｅ'ｓ               ａｄｄｒｅｓｓ.

Ｉｔ               ｔｒａｎｓｐｉｒｅｄ               ｓｈｅ'ｄ               ｓｃｒａｗｌｅｄ               ｉｔ               ｄｏｗｎ               ｊｕｓｔ               ｂｅｆｏｒｅ               ｌｅａｖｉｎｇ               ｔｈｅｍ,               ａｎｄ               ｆｏｒ               ａ               ｔｉｍｅ,               Ｄａｖｉｄ               ｗａｓ               ｄｒｕｎｋ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｒｅｌｉｅｆ               ａｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｎｅｗｓ,               ｊｕｓｔ               ｗａｌｋｉｎｇ               ｏｎ               ａｉｒ,               ｂｅｃａｕｓｅ               ｔｈｅｒｅ               ｗａｓ               ｔｈｅ               ｄａｎｇｅｒ               ｏｆ               ｈｉｓ               ｃｏｍｉｎｇ               ｄｏｗｎ               ｗｉｔｈ               ａ               ｓｅｒｉｏｕｓ               ｃａｓｅ               ｏｆ               ｌｏｖｅｓｉｃｋｎｅｓｓ               ｈａｄ               ｓｈｅ               ｂｅｃｏｍｅ               ｌｏｓｔ               ｔｏ               ｈｉｍ               ｆｏｒｅｖｅｒ,               ｂｕｔ               ｔｈａｎｋｓ               ｔｏ               Ｊａｃｋ,               ｈｅ'ｄ               ｆｏｕｎｄ               ｈｅｒ               ａｇａｉｎ.

               Ｔｈｅｒｅ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｈｅａｖｙ               ｓｔｏｒｍｓ,               ａｎｄ               ｏｎ               ａｔ               ｌｅａｓｔ               ｏｎｅ               ｏｃｃａｓｉｏｎ,               ｔｈｅ               ｃｒｅｗ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｏｒｄｅｒｅｄ               ｏｕｔ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅｉｒ               ｈａｍｍｏｃｋｓ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｍｉｄｄｌｅ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｎｉｇｈｔ               ｔｏ               ｈｅｌｐ               ｔｒｉｍ               ｔｈｅ               ｓａｉｌｓ.

Ｄａｖｉｄ               ｎｅｖｅｒ               ｔｏｏｋ               ａｎｙ               ｐａｒｔ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｉｓ,               ｗｈｉｃｈ               ｃａｎ               ｈａｒｄｌｙ               ｈａｖｅ               ｈｅｌｐｅｄ               ｈｉｓ               ｒｅｐｕｔａｔｉｏｎ,               ａｌｔｈｏｕｇｈ               ｈｅ               ｄｉｄ               ｃｌｉｍｂ               ｔｈｅ               ｒｉｇｇｉｎｇ               ｏｎｃｅ,               ｊｕｓｔ               ｂｅｆｏｒｅ               ｔｈｅ               Ｃｈｕｒｃｈｉｌｌ               ｄｏｃｋｅｄ               ａｔ               Ａｍｓｔｅｒｄａｍ               ｈａｒｂｏｕｒ.

Ｄｏｚｅｎｓ               ｏｆ               ｂｏｙｓ               ｍａｎｎｅｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｙａｒｄ               ａｒｍｓ,               ｔｏ               ｗｈｉｃｈ               ｔｈｅｙ               ｗｅｒｅ               ａｔｔａｃｈｅｄ               ｂｙ               ｔｈｅｉｒ               ｓａｆｅｔｙ               ｂｅｌｔｓ               ａｌｏｎｅ.

Ｄａｖｉｄ               ｈａｄ               ｂｅｅｎ               ｄｅｔｅｒｍｉｎｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｍａｋｅ               ｔｈｅ               ｃｌｉｍｂ,               ｅｖｅｎ               ｔｈｏｕｇｈ               ｔｈｅ               ｅｘｐｅｒｉｅｎｃｅ               ｔｅｒｒｉｆｉｅｄ               ｈｉｍ               ｓｏ               ｍｕｃｈ               ｈｉｓ               ｌｅｇｓ               ｓｈｏｏｋ               ｔｈｒｏｕｇｈｏｕｔ.

               Ｔｈｅ               Ｄｕｔｃｈ               ｃａｐｉｔａｌ               ｗａｓ               ｍａｒｋｅｄ               ｂｙ               ｔｈｅ               ｓａｍｅ               ｋｉｎｄ               ｏｆ               ｏｐｅｎ               ｓｅｘｕａｌ               ｌｉｃｅｎｃｅ               ｈｅ'ｄ               ｗｉｔｎｅｓｓｅｄ               ｏｎｌｙ               ｔｈｅ               ｙｅａｒ               ｂｅｆｏｒｅ               ｉｎ               Ｈａｍｂｕｒｇ,               ａｌｔｈｏｕｇｈ               ｉｔ               ｓｅｅｍｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｈｉｍ               ｔｏ               ｌａｃｋ               ｔｈｅ               Ｇｅｒｍａｎ               ｃｉｔｙ'ｓ               ｓｉｎｉｓｔｅｒ               ｖｉｂｒａｎｃｙ.

Ｔｈｅｎ               -               ｊｕｓｔ               ａｓ               ｔｏｄａｙ               -               ｔｈｅ               ｓａｄ               Ｄｅ               Ｗａｌｌｅｎ               ｒｅｄ-ｌｉｇｈｔ               ｄｉｓｔｒｉｃｔ               ｗａｓ               ｆｉｌｌｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｂｒｉｍ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｈｕｎｄｒｅｄｓ               ｏｆ               ｌｉｔｔｌｅ               ｉｌｌｕｍｉｎａｔｅｄ               ｏｎｅ-ｒｏｏｍ               ａｐａｒｔｍｅｎｔｓ,               ｅａｃｈ               ｗｉｔｈ               ａ               ｓｉｎｇｌｅ               ｗｏｍａｎ               ｓｉｔｔｉｎｇ               ｉｎ               ｃｌｅａｒ               ｖｉｅｗ               ｏｆ               ｏｎｌｏｏｋｅｒｓ               ｐｌｙｉｎｇ               ｈｅｒ               ｌｏｎｅｌｙ               ｔｒａｄｅ.

               Ａｓ               ｆｏｒ               Ｅｄｉｎｂｕｒｇｈ,               ｊｕｓｔ               ｂｅｆｏｒｅ               ｓｅｔｔｉｎｇ               ｆｏｏｔ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｃｉｔｙ               ｆｏｒ               ｔｈｅ               ｆｉｒｓｔ               ｔｉｍｅ,               ｏｎｅ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｌａｄｓ,               ｄｒｅｓｓｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｎｉｎｅｓ               ｈｉｍｓｅｌｆ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｔｒｅｎｄｉｅｓｔ               ｓｅｖｅｎｔｉｅｓ               ｇｅａｒ,               ｗａｒｎｅｄ               Ｄａｖｉｄ               ｎｏｔ               ｔｏ               ｇｏ               ｓｔｒｕｔｔｉｎｇ               ａｂｏｕｔ               Ｅｄｉｎｂｕｒｇｈ               ｔｏｗｎ               ｃｅｎｔｒｅ               ｉｎ               ｆｌａｓｈｙ               ｂｏａｔｉｎｇ               ｂｌａｚｅｒ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｓｏｍｅ               ｋｉｎｄ               ｏｆ               ｌａｔｔｅｒ-ｄａｙ               Ｍｏｄｅｒｎｉｓｔ.

Ｈａｖｉｎｇ               ｐａｃｋｅｄ               ｆｅｗ               ｃｌｏｔｈｅｓ,               Ｄａｖｉｄ               ｗａｓ               ｆｏｒｃｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｉｇｎｏｒｅ               ｈｉｓ               ａｄｖｉｃｅ,               ａｎｄ,               ｗａｌｔｚｉｎｇ               ｓｏｍｅ               ｔｉｍｅ               ｌａｔｅｒ               ｉｎｔｏ               ａｎ               ｉｎｎｅｒ               ｃｉｔｙ               ｐｕｂ               ｉｎ               ｂｒｏａｄ               ｄａｙｌｉｇｈｔ               ｗｅａｒｉｎｇ               ｓａｉｄ               ｂｌａｚｅｒ,               ｗｉｔｈ               ｓｔｒａｉｇｈｔ               ｂｌｕｅ               ｊｅａｎｓ               ｔｕｃｋｅｄ               ｉｎｔｏ               ｌｏｎｇ               ｗｈｉｔｅ               ｓｏｃｋｓ,               ａ               ｇｒｉｎｎｉｎｇ               ｈａｒｄ               ｍａｎ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｌｏｎｇ               ｒｅｄｄｉｓｈ               ｃｕｒｌｙ               ｈａｉｒ               ａｓｋｅｄ               ｈｉｍ:
               "Ａｒｅ               ｙｏｕ               ｆｒａｅ               Ｏｘｆｏｒｄ,               ｓｏｎ?"
               Ｐｅｒｈａｐｓ               ｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ａｗａｒｅ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｇｒｅａｔ               ｕｎｉｖｅｒｓｉｔｙ'ｓ               ｒｅｐｕｔａｔｉｏｎ               ｆｏｒ               ｐｒｏｄｕｃｉｎｇ               ｆｌａｍｉｎｇ               ａｅｓｔｈｅｔｅｓ               ｌｉｋｅ               Ｂｒｉｄｅｓｈｅａｄ'ｓ               Ａｎｔｈｏｎｙ               Ｂｌａｎｃｈｅ,               ａｎｄ               ｉｆ               ｓｏ,               ｉｔ               ｍａｙ               ｈａｖｅ               ｂｅｅｎ               ｔｏｕｃｈ               ａｎｄ               ｇｏ               ｆｏｒ               ａ               ｗｈｉｌｅ               ａｓ               ｔｏ               ｗｈｅｔｈｅｒ               ｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ｇｏｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ｉｎｆｌｉｃｔ               ｓｏｍｅ               ｓｅｒｉｏｕｓ               ｄａｍａｇｅ               ｏｎ               Ｄａｖｉｄ'ｓ               ａｎｇｅｌｉｃ               Ｅｎｇｌｉｓｈ               ｆａｃｅ,               ｂｕｔ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｅｎｄ               ｈｅ               ｌｅｆｔ               ｈｉｍ               ｂｅ.

Ｈｅ               ｍａｙ               ｅｖｅｎ               ｈａｖｅ               ａｄｍｉｒｅｄ               ｈｉｓ               ｃｈｕｔｚｐａｈ.

Ｂｕｔ               ｔｈｅｒｅ               ｗａｓ               ｊｕｓｔ               ｓｏｍｅｔｈｉｎｇ               ａｂｏｕｔ               Ｄａｖｉｄ...ｓｏｍｅｔｈｉｎｇ               ｔｈａｔ               ｒｅｐｅｌｌｅｄ               ｐｈｙｓｉｃａｌ               ｖｉｏｌｅｎｃｅ,               ｓｏｍｅ               ｍｙｓｔｅｒｉｏｕｓ               ｐｒｏｔｅｃｔｉｖｅ               ｆｏｒｃｅ.
               Ｗｉｔｈｉｎ               ａ               ｆｅｗ               ｗｅｅｋｓ               ｏｆ               ｒｅｔｕｒｎｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               Ｌｏｎｄｏｎ               ｂｙ               ｔｒａｉｎ               ｆｒｏｍ               Ｅｄｉｎｂｕｒｇｈ,               Ｄａｖｉｄ               ａｎｄ               Ｄａｎｅ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｏｆｆ               ｔｏ               ｓｅａ               ａｇａｉｎ,               ｔｈｉｓ               ｔｉｍｅ               ａｓ               ｐａｒｔ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               Ｏｃｅａｎ               Ｙｏｕｔｈ               Ｃｌｕｂ,               ｂｏｕｎｄ               ｆｏｒ               ｔｈｅ               Ｂａｌｔｉｃ               ｃｏａｓｔ               ｏｆ               Ｄｅｎｍａｒｋ               ｂｙ               ｗａｙ               ｏｆ               Ｇｅｒｍａｎｙ'ｓ               Ｋｉｅｌ               Ｃａｎａｌ.

Ａｎｄ               ｗｈｉｌｅ               ｔｈｅｙ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｏｎｃｅ               ｍｏｒｅ               ｓｕｐｅｒｖｉｓｅｄ               ｂｙ               "ｍａｔｅｓ"               ｕｎｄｅｒ               ｔｈｅ               ｃｏｍｍａｎｄ               ｏｆ               ａ               Ｓｈｉｐ'ｓ               Ｃａｐｔａｉｎ,               ｔｈｅ               ＯＹＣ               ｕｔｉｌｉｓｅｄ               ｍｏｄｅｒｎ               ｙａｃｈｔｓ               ｒａｔｈｅｒ               ｔｈａｎ               ｔｒａｄｉｔｉｏｎａｌ               ｔａｌｌ               ｓｈｉｐｓ.
               Ｔｈｅ               Ｃｒｉｓｔｉａｎｓｅｎｓ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｑｕｉｃｋ               ｔｏ               ｒｅｃｒｕｉｔ               ａ               ｎｉｃｅ               ｙｏｕｎｇ               ｇｕｙ               ｃａｌｌｅｄ               Ｃｙ               ａｓ               ｔｈｅｉｒ               ｂｅｓｔ               ｐａｌ               ａｎｄ               ｃｏｎｆｉｄａｎｔｅ               ｆｏｒ               ｔｈｅ               ｔｒｉｐ.

Ｉｔ               ｔｕｒｎｅｄ               ｏｕｔ               ｔｈｅｙ'ｄ               ａｃｔｕａｌｌｙ               ｍｅｔ               ｈｉｍ               ｓｏｍｅ               ｔｅｎ               ｙｅａｒｓ               ｐｒｅｖｉｏｕｓｌｙ               ｗｈｉｌｅ               ｐａｓｓｉｎｇ               ｔｈｒｏｕｇｈ               Ｃａｌｐｅ,               Ｓｐａｉｎ,               ｅｉｔｈｅｒ               ｏｎ               ｔｈｅｉｒ               ｗａｙ               ｔｏ               ｏｒ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｔｈｅｉｒ               ｇｒａｎｄｍｏｔｈｅｒ               Ｍａｒｙ'ｓ               ｈｏｍｅ               ｏｎ               ｔｈｅ               Ｃｏｓｔａ               Ｂｒａｖａ.
               Ｓｏｏｎ               ａｆｔｅｒ               ｓｅｔｔｉｎｇ               ｆｏｏｔ               ｏｎ               Ｄａｎｉｓｈ               ｓｏｉｌ               ｔｈｅｙ               ｇｏｔ               ｔａｌｋｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ａ               ｃｏｕｐｌｅ               ｏｆ               ｇｉｒｌｓ               ｗｈｏ,               ａｓ               ｍｉｇｈｔ               ｂｅ               ｅｘｐｅｃｔｅｄ,               ｈａｄ               ｎａｔｕｒａｌ               ｇｏｌｄｅｎ               ｂｌｏｎｄｅ               ｈａｉｒ,               ｂｕｔ               ｔｈｅｉｒ               ｅｆｆｏｒｔｓ               ａｔ               ｒｏｍａｎｃｅ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｗｈｏｌｌｙ               ｉｎｎｏｃｅｎｔ,               ｄｅｓｐｉｔｅ               ｔｈｅ               ｒｅｐｕｔａｔｉｏｎ               Ｓｃａｎｄｉｎａｖｉａｎｓ               ｈａｄ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｏｓｅ               ｄａｙｓ               ｆｏｒ               ｐｒｏｇｒｅｓｓｉｖｅ               ｓｅｘｕａｌ               ａｔｔｉｔｕｄｅｓ.
               Ａ               ｌｅｓｓ               ｐｌｅａｓａｎｔ               ｒｏｍａｎｔｉｃ               ｅｐｉｓｏｄｅ               ｔｏｏｋ               ｐｌａｃｅ               ｔｏｗａｒｄｓ               ｔｈｅ               ｅｎｄ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｔｒｉｐ,               ｗｈｉｃｈ               ｓａｗ               Ｄａｖｉｄ               ｉｎ               ｐｕｒｓｕｉｔ               ｏｆ               ａ               ｐｒｅｔｔｙ               Ｇｅｒｍａｎ               ｇｉｒｌ               ｃａｌｌｅｄ               Ｕｌｒｉｋｅ.

Ｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ｃｒａｚｙ               ｆｏｒ               ｈｅｒ,               ａｎｄ               ｓｈｅ               ｍａｄｅ               ｉｔ               ｐｒｅｔｔｙ               ｃｌｅａｒ               ｓｈｅ               ｌｉｋｅｄ               ｈｉｍ               ｔｏｏ,               ａｎｄ               ｙｅｔ               ｈｅ'ｄ               ｓｅｎｓｅｌｅｓｓｌｙ               ｓｉｄｅｌｉｎｅｄ               ｈｅｒ               ｆｏｒ               ｔｈｅ               ｓａｋｅ               ｏｆ               ａ               ｎｉｇｈｔ               ｏｆ               ｄｒｕｎｋｅｎ               ｉｄｉｏｃｙ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｈｉｓ               ｂｒｏｔｈｅｒ               ａｎｄ               Ｃｙ,               ｐｅｒｈａｐｓ               ｅｘｐｅｃｔｉｎｇ               ｈｅｒ               ｔｏ               ｒｕｎ               ａｆｔｅｒ               ｈｉｍ               ｏｒ               ｓｏｍｅｔｈｉｎｇ.

Ｓｕｄｄｅｎｌｙ,               ｏｖｅｒｔａｋｅｎ               ｂｙ               ｓｉｃｋｌｙ               ｐａｎｇｓ               ｏｆ               ｒｅｍｏｒｓｅ,               ｈｅ               ｓｅｔ               ｏｕｔ               ｔｏ               ｆｉｎｄ               ｈｅｒ,               ａｎｄ               ａｔ               ｓｏｍｅ               ｐｏｉｎｔ               ｄｕｒｉｎｇ               ｈｉｓ               ｑｕｅｓｔ,               ｗｈｉｌｅ               ｗａｌｋｉｎｇ               ａｌｏｎｇ               ｓｏｍｅ               ｋｉｎｄ               ｏｆ               ｗｏｏｄｅｎ               ｐｏｎｔｏｏｎ,               ｈｅ               ｌｏｓｔ               ｍｙ               ｆｏｏｔｉｎｇ               ａｎｄ               ｆｅｌｌ               ｆｕｌｌｙ               ｃｌｏｔｈｅｄ               ｉｎｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｗａｔｅｒｓ               ｏｆ               ｗｈａｔ               ｍｕｓｔ               ｈａｖｅ               ｂｅｅｎ               ｔｈｅ               Ｋｉｅｌ               Ｃａｎａｌ.
               Ｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ａ               ｐａｔｈｅｔｉｃ               ｆｉｇｕｒｅ               ｔｈｅ               ｎｅｘｔ               ｄａｙ,               ｗｉｔｈ               ｈｉｓ               ｆａｎｃｙ               ｄａｎｄｙ               ｃｌｏｔｈｅｓ               ａｌｌ               ｌａｉｄ               ｏｕｔ               ｏｎ               ｄｅｃｋ.
               "Ｗｈａｔ               ｈａｐｐｅｎｅｄ               ｌａｓｔ               ｎｉｇｈｔ?"               ｔｈｅ               ｃａｐｔａｉｎ               ｂｒｅｅｚｉｌｙ               ａｓｋｅｄ               ｈｉｍ.
               "Ｗｅｌｌ",               ｈｅ               ｈａｚａｒｄｅｄ               ｉｎ               ｒｅｓｐｏｎｓｅ,               "Ｉ               ｗａｓ               ｌｏｏｋｉｎｇ               ｆｏｒ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｇｉｒｌ               ａｎｄ..."
               "Ｙｏｕ               ｌｉｖｅ               ｉｎ               ａ               ｄｒｅａｍ               ｗｏｒｌｄ,               Ｄａｖｉｄ."
               Ｉｎｄｅｅｄ               ｈｅ               ｄｉｄ.

Ｈｅ               ｓｕｂｓｅｑｕｅｎｔｌｙ               ｗｒｏｔｅ               ｔｏ               Ｕｌｒｉｋｅ,               ｂｕｔ               ｏｆ               ｃｏｕｒｓｅ,               ｓｈｅ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｒｅｐｌｙ.

Ｓｅｌｆ-ｓａｂｏｔａｇｅ               ｗａｓ               ｆａｓｔ               ｂｅｃｏｍｉｎｇ               ａ               ｓｐｅｃｉａｌｉｔｙ               ｏｆ               Ｂｊｏｒｎ-Ｄａｖｉｄ               Ｃｒｉｓｔｉａｎｓｅｎ'ｓ.
               Ｓｔｉｌｌ               ｌａｔｅｒ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｕｍｍｅｒ,               ｈｅ               ｓｐｅｎｔ               ｓｅｖｅｎ               ｄａｙｓ               ｌｉｖｉｎｇ               ｏｎｂｏａｒｄ               ａ               ｓｈｉｐ               ｍｏｏｒｅｄ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               Ｐｏｏｌ               ｏｆ               Ｌｏｎｄｏｎ,               ａ               ｓｔｒｅｔｃｈ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               Ｔｈａｍｅｓ               ｌｙｉｎｇ               ｂｅｔｗｅｅｎ               Ｌｏｎｄｏｎ               Ｂｒｉｄｇｅ               ａｎｄ               Ｒｏｔｈｅｒｈｉｔｈｅ,               ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｕｂｊｅｃｔ               ｏｆ               ａ               1906               ｐａｉｎｔｉｎｇ               ｂｙ               Ａｌａｉｎ               Ｄｅｒａｉｎ,               ａｎｄ               ａ               1951               ｍｏｖｉｅ               ｄｉｒｅｃｔｅｄ               ｂｙ               Ｂａｓｉｌ               Ｄｅａｒｄｅｎ.
               Ｉｎ               ｏｒｄｅｒ               ｔｏ               ｒｅａｃｈ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｈｉｐ,               ｈｅ               ｈａｄ               ｔｏ               ｂｏａｒｄ               ｓｏｍｅ               ｋｉｎｄ               ｏｆ               ｌａｕｎｃｈ               ｗｉｔｈ               ａ               ｇｒｏｕｐ               ｏｆ               ｏｔｈｅｒ               ｓｅａｍｅｎ,               ｏｎｅ               ｏｆ               ｗｈｏｍ               ｈａｄ               ｔａｋｅｎ               ｕｎｏｆｆｉｃｉａｌ               ｃｈａｒｇｅ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｏｐｅｒａｔｉｏｎ,               ｂｙ               ｖｉｒｔｕｅ               ｏｆ               ｈｉｓ               ｒａｎｋ               ｏｆ               Ｌｅａｄｉｎｇ               Ｓｅａｍａｎ,               ｏｒ               Ｋｉｌｌｉｃｋ.

Ｈｉｓ               ｎａｍｅ               ｗａｓ               Ｂｉｒｃｈｗｏｏｄ,               ａｎｄ               ｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ａｓ               ｈａｎｄｓｏｍｅ               ａｓ               ａ               ｍｏｖｉｅ               ｓｔａｒ,               ｗｉｔｈ               ａ               ｈｅａｖｙ               ｍｏｐ               ｏｆ               ｂｌｏｎｄ,               ａｌｍｏｓｔ               ｙｅｌｌｏｗ               ｈａｉｒ,               ａｎｄ               ｂｌｕｅ               ｅｙｅｓ               ｏｆ               ａ               ｓｔｒｉｋｉｎｇ               ｉｎｔｅｎｓｉｔｙ,               ｂｕｔ               ｗｈｉｌｅ               ｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ｋｎｏｗｎ               ａｓ               ａ               "ｇｌａｍｏｕｒ               ｂｏｙ",               ｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ａｓ               ｕｎｃｏｍｐｒｏｍｉｓｉｎｇｌｙ               ｔｏｕｇｈ               ａｓ               ａｎｙ               ｏｔｈｅｒ               ｄｅｎｉｚｅｎ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｌｏｗｅｒ               ｄｅｃｋ,               ｗｈｉｃｈ               ｍａｄｅ               ｈｉｍ               ａ               ｃｏｎｓｐｉｃｕｏｕｓ               ａｎｄ               ｃｈａｒｉｓｍａｔｉｃ               ｆｉｇｕｒｅ.
               Ｏｎｃｅ               ｔｈｅｙ               ｗｅｒｅ               ａｌｌ               ｓａｆｅｌｙ               ａｂｏａｒｄ,               ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｔｈｅ               ｔｕｒｎ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅｉｒ               ｔｏｗ-ｈｅａｄｅｄ               ｌｅａｄｅｒ               ｔｏ               ｊｏｉｎ               ｔｈｅｍ,               ｂｕｔ               ａｓ               ｈｅ               ｓｔｅｐｐｅｄ               ｏｆｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｌａｕｎｃｈ,               ｈｅ               ｓｏｍｅｈｏｗ               ｌｏｓｔ               ｈｉｓ               ｆｏｏｔｉｎｇ               ａｎｄ               ｓｌｉｐｐｅｄ               ｉｎｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               Ｔｈａｍｅｓ               ｂｅｎｅａｔｈ               ｈｉｍ.

Ｗｉｔｈｉｎ               ａ               ｍａｔｔｅｒ               ｏｆ               ｍｉｎｕｔｅｓ               ｈｉｓ               ｈｅａｖｙ               ｃｌｏｔｈｉｎｇ               ａｎｄ               ｂｏｏｔｓ,               ｈｅｌｐｅｄ               ｂｙ               ａ               ｖｉｃｉｏｕｓ               ｃｕｒｒｅｎｔ,               ｈａｄ               ｄｒａｇｇｅｄ               ｈｉｍ               ｂｅｎｅａｔｈ               ｔｈｅ               ｒｉｖｅｒ'ｓ               ｓｕｒｆａｃｅ               ａｎｄ               ｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ｌｏｓｔ.

Ｉｔ               ｃａｓｔ               ａ               ｔｅｒｒｉｂｌｅ               ｐａｌｌ               ｏｖｅｒ               ｔｈｅ               ｒｅｓｔ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｗｅｅｋ.
               Ｂｕｔ               ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｏｎｌｙ               ｌａｔｅｒ,               ａｆｔｅｒ               ｈｅ'ｄ               ｒｅｔｕｒｎｅｄ               ｔｏ               Ｌｏｎｄｏｎ,               ａｎｄ               ｔｏｌｄ               ｈｉｓ               ｍｏｔｈｅｒ               ｗｈａｔ               ｈａｄ               ｈａｐｐｅｎｅｄ,               ｔｈａｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｔｒｕｅ               ａｐｐａｌｌｉｎｇ               ｔｒａｇｅｄｙ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｉｎｃｉｄｅｎｔ               ｈｉｔ               ｈｏｍｅ,               ａｎｄ               ａｆｔｅｒ               ｓｈｅ'ｄ               ｗｅｐｔ               ｆｏｒ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｍａｎ               ｓｈｅ'ｄ               ｎｅｖｅｒ               ｅｖｅｎ               ｍｅｔ,               Ｄａｖｉｄ               ｒａｎ               ｉｎｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｂａｔｈｒｏｏｍ               ａｎｄ               ｓｏｂｂｅｄ               ｈｉｓ               ｈｅａｒｔ               ｏｕｔ               ｈｉｍｓｅｌｆ.

Ｂｕｔ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｗａｓ               ｏｎｌｙ               ｔｈｅ               ｂｅｇｉｎｎｉｎｇ               ｏｆ               ｓｏｒｒｏｗｓ               ｆｏｒ               ｔｈｅ               Ｌｏｎｄｏｎ               Ｄｉｖｉｓｉｏｎ               ＲＮＲ.
               Ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｓａｍｅ               ｙｅａｒ               ｏｆ               '75               ｔｈａｔ               Ｄａｖｉｄ               ａｔｔｅｍｐｔｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｐａｓｓ               ｗｈａｔ               ｉｓ               ｋｎｏｗｎ               ａｓ               ｔｈｅ               ＡＩＢ               ｏｒ               Ａｄｍｉｒａｌｔｙ               Ｉｎｔｅｒｖｉｅｗ               Ｂｏａｒｄ,               ｗｉｔｈ               ａ               ｖｉｅｗ               ｔｏ               ｑｕａｌｉｆｙｉｎｇ               ａｓ               ａ               Ｓｕｐｐｌｙ               ａｎｄ               Ｓｅｃｒｅｔａｒｉａｔ               ｏｆｆｉｃｅｒ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               Ｒｏｙａｌ               Ｎａｖｙ.

Ｉｔ               ｉｎｖｏｌｖｅｄ               ｈｉｓ               ｔａｋｉｎｇ               ｔｈｅ               ｔｒａｉｎ               ｆｒｏｍ               Ｌｏｎｄｏｎ               ｔｏ               Ｇｏｓｐｏｒｔ               ｏｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｏｕｔｈ               ｃｏａｓｔ               ｏｆ               Ｅｎｇｌａｎｄ               ｔｏ               ｓｐｅｎｄ               ｔｈｒｅｅ               ｄａｙｓ               ｗｉｔｈｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｇａｔｅｓ               ｏｆ               ＨＭＳ               Ｓｕｌｔａｎ,               ｔｈｅ               Ｒｏｙａｌ               Ｎａｖｙ'ｓ               ｓｈｏｒｅ-ｂａｓｅｄ               ｓｐｅｃｉａｌｉｓｔ               ｔｒａｉｎｉｎｇ               ｃｅｎｔｒｅ,               ａｔｔｅｎｄｉｎｇ               ｖａｒｉｏｕｓ               ｅｘａｍｉｎａｔｉｏｎｓ               ａｎｄ               ｉｎｔｅｒｖｉｅｗｓ               ｉｎｔｅｎｄｅｄ               ｔｏ               ａｓｓｅｓｓ               ｈｉｓ               ｐｏｔｅｎｔｉａｌ               ａｓ               ａ               ｆｕｔｕｒｅ               ｎａｖａｌ               ｏｆｆｉｃｅｒ.
               Ｏｎ               ｏｎｅ               ｏｃｃａｓｉｏｎ,               ｊｕｓｔ               ｂｅｆｏｒｅ               ｏｎｅ               ａｓｓｉｇｎｍｅｎｔ               ｏｒ               ａｎｏｔｈｅｒ,               ｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ｐｕｔｔｉｎｇ               ｔｈｅ               ｆｉｎａｌ               ｔｏｕｃｈｅｓ               ｔｏ               ｈｉｓ               ｔｏｉｌｅｔｔｅ               ｉｎ               ｆｒｏｎｔ               ｏｆ               ａ               ｈａｎｄｙ               ｍｉｒｒｏｒ,               ｗｈｅｎ               ｏｎｅ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｇｕｙｓ               ｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ｓｈａｒｉｎｇ               ａ               ｄｏｒｍ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｆｅｌｔ               ｉｔ               ｎｅｃｅｓｓａｒｙ               ｔｏ               ｒｅｍｉｎｄ               ｈｉｍ:
               "Ｉｔ'ｓ               ｎｏｔ               ａ               ｆａｓｈｉｏｎ               ｐａｒａｄｅ,               ｍａｔｅ..."
               Ｈｅ               ｗｏｕｌｄｎ'ｔ               ｂｅ               ｊｏｉｎｉｎｇ               Ｄａｖｉｄ               ｔｈａｔ               ｎｉｇｈｔ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｄｉｓｃｏ,               ｏｒ               ａｎｙ               ｎｉｇｈｔ               ｆｏｒ               ｔｈａｔ               ｍａｔｔｅｒ,               ｂｕｔ               ｙｏｕ               ｃｏｕｌｄｎ'ｔ               ｆａｕｌｔ               ｈｉｓ               ｄｅｄｉｃａｔｉｏｎ,               ｎｏｒ               ｈｉｓ               ｐｏｗｅｒｓ               ｏｆ               ｏｂｓｅｒｖａｔｉｏｎ,               ｆｏｒ               ｔｈａｔ               ｍａｔｔｅｒ.

               Ｔｗｏ               ｇｕｙｓ               ｅｖｅｎｔｕａｌｌｙ               ｄｉｄ               ａｇｒｅｅ               ｔｏ               ｋｅｅｐ               ｈｉｍ               ｃｏｍｐａｎｙ,               ｂｕｔ               ｔｈｅｙ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｒｅａｌｌｙ               ｓｅｅｍ               ａｌｌ               ｔｈａｔ               ｋｅｅｎ.

Ａｓ               ｔｈｉｎｇｓ               ｔｕｒｎｅｄ               ｏｕｔ,               ｔｈｅｙ               ｌｅｆｔ               ｈｉｍ               ａｌｏｎｅ               ａｔ               ａ               Ｇｏｓｐｏｒｔ               ｄｉｓｃｏ               ｔｏ               ｒｅｔｕｒｎ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               Ｓｕｌｔａｎ               ｆｏｒ               ａｎ               ｅａｒｌｙ               ｎｉｇｈｔ.

Ｗｈｅｎ               ａｓｋｅｄ               ｗｈａｔ               ｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ｄｏｉｎｇ               ｉｎ               Ｇｏｓｐｏｒｔ               ｂｙ               ａ               ｙｏｕｎｇ               ｗｏｍａｎ               ｈｅ               ｂｅｆｒｉｅｎｄｅｄ               ｔｈａｔ               ｎｉｇｈｔ,               ｈｅ               ｔｏｌｄ               ｈｅｒ               ａｂｏｕｔ               ｔｈｅ               ＡＩＢ               ａｎｄ               ｈｉｓ               ｆｅａｒｓ               ｏｆ               ｆａｉｌｉｎｇ.
               "Ｏｈ,               ｙｏｕ'ｌｌ               ｐａｓｓ,               "               ｓｈｅ               ｔｏｌｄ               ｈｉｍ               ｗｉｔｈ               ａ               ｒｅａｓｓｕｒｉｎｇ               ｓｍｉｌｅ.
               Ｂｕｔ               ｉｆ               ｓｈｅ'ｄ               ｌｏｏｋｅｄ               ａ               ｌｉｔｔｌｅ               ｃｌｏｓｅｒ,               ｓｈｅ               ｍｉｇｈｔ               ｎｏｔ               ｈａｖｅ               ｓｐｏｋｅｎ               ｓｏ               ｃｏｎｆｉｄｅｎｔｌｙ.

Ａｆｔｅｒ               ａｌｌ,               ｈｉｓ               ｗａｒｄｒｏｂｅ               ｗａｓ               ｓｏ               ｏｖｅｒｄｏｎｅ,               ａｎｄ               ｓｏ               ａｎａｃｈｒｏｎｏｕｓ,               ｗｉｔｈ               ｉｔｓ               ｃｏｌｌｅｇｅ               ｔｉｅｓ               ａｎｄ               ｓｉｌｋ               ｓｃａｒｖｅｓ,               ａｎｄ               ｃｏｔｔｏｎ               ｆｌａｎｎｅｌｓ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｔｈｅｉｒ               ａｂｓｕｒｄ               ｋｎｉｆｅ               ｅｄｇｅ               ｐｒｅｓｓ,               ｔｈａｔ               ｆａｒ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｂｅｉｎｇ               ｂｅｓｐｅａｋｉｎｇ               ｔｈｅ               ｃｏｎｆｉｄｅｎｃｅ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｐｅｒｐｅｔｕａｌ               ｈｉｇｈ               ａｃｈｉｅｖｅｒ,               ｉｔ               ｍｉｇｈｔ               ｗｅｌｌ               ｈａｖｅ               ｂｅｅｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｄｉｓｇｕｉｓｅ               ｄｏｎｎｅｄ               ｄａｉｌｙ               ｂｙ               ａ               ｆｒａｇｉｌｅ               ａｎｄ               ｉｎｓｅｃｕｒｅ               ｐｅｒｓｏｎａｌｉｔｙ,               ｗｈｏ'ｄ               ｔａｓｔｅｄ               ｆａｉｌｕｒｅ               ｔｏｏ               ｍａｎｙ               ｔｉｍｅｓ               ｆｏｒ               ｏｎｅ               ｏｆ               ｓｕｃｈ               ｔｅｎｄｅｒ               ｙｅａｒｓ.
               Ｗｈｅｎ               Ｄａｖｉｄ               ｆｉｎａｌｌｙ               ｇｏｔ               ｂａｃｋ               ｔｏ               ＨＭＳ               Ｓｕｌｔａｎ               ｈｉｍｓｅｌｆ,               ｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ｓｈｏｃｋｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｄｉｓｃｏｖｅｒ               ｔｈａｔ               ｈｅｒ               ｍａｉｎ               ｅｎｔｒａｎｃｅ               ｈａｄ               ｂｅｅｎ               ｌｏｃｋｅｄ               ａｎｄ               ｗａｓ               ｎｏｗ               ｂｅｉｎｇ               ｍａｎｎｅｄ               ｂｙ               ａｎ               ａｒｍｅｄ               ｇｕａｒｄ.
               Ａｓ               ｔｈｅ               ｙｏｕｎｇ               ｍａｎ               ｓｅｔ               ａｂｏｕｔ               ｔｒｙｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ｍａｋｅ               ｃｏｎｔａｃｔ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｈｉｓ               ｓｕｐｅｒｉｏｒｓ,               ｈｅ               ｍｕｓｔ               ｈａｖｅ               ｗｏｎｄｅｒｅｄ               ｗｈａｔ               ｋｉｎｄ               ｏｆ               ｐｅｒｓｏｎ               ｒｅｔｕｒｎｓ               ｔｏ               ｂａｓｅ               ｄｒｅｓｓｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｎｉｎｅｓ               ａｆｔｅｒ               ａ               ｎｉｇｈｔ'ｓ               ｄｉｓｃｏ               ｄａｎｃｉｎｇ               ｗｈｅｎ               ｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ｓｕｐｐｏｓｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｂｅ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｍｉｄｓｔ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｒｅｅ               ｄａｙｓ               ｏｆ               ｇｒｕｅｌｌｉｎｇ               ｔｅｓｔｓ               ａｎｄ               ｉｎｔｅｒｖｉｅｗｓ               ｔｈａｔ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｖｉｔａｌ               ｔｏ               ｈｉｓ               ｆｕｔｕｒｅ               ｃａｒｅｅｒ;               ｂｕｔ               ｈｅ               ｇａｖｅ               ｎｏ               ｉｎｄｉｃａｔｉｏｎ               ｏｆ               ｉｔ.
               Ｉｎ               ｔｉｍｅ,               ｔｈｏｕｇｈ,               ｈｉｓ               ｅｆｆｏｒｔｓ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｓｕｃｃｅｓｓｆｕｌ,               ａｎｄ               ｓｈｏｒｔｌｙ               ａｆｔｅｒｗａｒｄｓ,               ａ               ｓｈｅｅｐｉｓｈ               Ｄａｖｉｄ               ｗａｓ               ｆｏｒｃｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｐａｓｓ               ｔｈｒｏｕｇｈ               ａｎ               ｏｆｆｉｃｅｒ'ｓ               ｍｅｓｓ,               ｗｈｅｒｅ               ｈｅ               ｂｒｉｅｆｌｙ               ｅｘｃｈａｎｇｅｄ               ｐｌｅａｓａｎｔｒｉｅｓ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｉｔｓ               ａｉｒｉｌｙ               ａｆｆａｂｌｅ               ｏｃｃｕｐａｎｔｓ,               ｉｎ               ｏｒｄｅｒ               ｔｏ               ｒｅａｃｈ               ｈｉｓ               ｒｏｏｍ.

Ｔｈｅｙ               ｍｕｓｔ               ｈａｖｅ               ｈａｄ               ａ               ｌａｕｇｈ               ａｔ               ｈｉｓ               ｅｘｐｅｎｓｅ               ｏｎｃｅ               ｈｅ'ｄ               ｔｕｒｎｅｄ               ｉｎ:
               "Ｗｈａｔ               ｋｉｎｄ               ｏｆ               ｃｈａｐ               ｇｅｔｓ               ｈｉｍｓｅｌｆ               ｌｏｃｋｅｄ               ｏｕｔ               ｏｆ               ｂａｓｅ               ｗｈｅｎ               ｈｅ'ｓ               ｓｕｐｐｏｓｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｂｅ
               ｔａｋｉｎｇ               ｈｉｓ               ＡＩＢ?"               ｏｎｅ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅｍ               ｍｉｇｈｔ               ｈａｖｅ               ｓａｉｄ.
               "Ａｌｌ               ｖｅｒｙ               ｒｕｍ,               ｄｉｄ               ｙｏｕ               ｃａｔｃｈ               ｔｈｅ               ｗａｙ               ｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ｄｒｅｓｓｅｄ?"
               "Ｙｅｓ,               ｐｅｒｈａｐｓ               ｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ｔａｋｉｎｇ               ｐａｒｔ               ｉｎ               ａ               Ｎｏｅｌ               Ｃｏｗａｒｄ               ｌｏｏｋ               ａｌｉｋｅ               ｃｏｎｔｅｓｔ".
               "Ｌｅｔ'ｓ               ｈｏｐｅ               ｈｅ               ｗｏｎ,               'ｃｏｓ               ｈｅ               ａｉｎ'ｔ               ｇｏｎｎａ               ｂｅ               ｗｉｎｎｉｎｇ               ｎｏ               ｐｒｉｚｅｓ               ｈｅｒｅ."
               "Ｈａ               ｈａ               ｈａ               ｈａ               ｈａ               ｈａ!"
               Ｏｎｅ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｌａｓｔ               ｎｏｔａｂｌｅ               ｉｎｃｉｄｅｎｔｓ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｙｅａｒ               ｔｏｏｋ               ｐｌａｃｅ               ｉｎ               Ｄｅｃｅｍｂｅｒ,               ｗｈｅｎ               ｄｒｅｓｓｅｄ               ｉｎ               ａｎ               ａｌｌ-ｗｈｉｔｅ               ｏｕｔｆｉｔ               ａｎｄ               ａ               ｌｏｎｇ               ｆａｗｎ               ｍａｃｋｉｎｔｏｓｈ,               ｈｅ               ｔｏｏｋ               ｈｉｓ               ｆｒｉｅｎｄ               Ｎｏｒｍａ,               ｏｎｅ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               Ｌｏｎｄｏｎ               Ｄｉｖｉｓｉｏｎ               Ｗｒｅｎｓ,               ｂｕｔ               ｏｒｉｇｉｎａｌｌｙ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｔｈｅ               ｎｏｒｔｈ               ｏｆ               Ｅｎｇｌａｎｄ,               ｔｏ               ａ               ｄｉｎｎｅｒ               ｄａｎｃｅ               ａｔ               Ｌｏｎｄｏｎ'ｓ               Ｗａｌｆｏｒｄ               Ｈｉｌｔｏｎ               Ｈｏｔｅｌ.
               Ｔｈｅｙ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｊｏｉｎｅｄ               ｔｈｅｒｅ               ｂｙ               ａ               ｃｏｕｐｌｅ               ｏｆ               Ｎｏｒｍａ'ｓ               ｃｌｏｓｅ               ｆｒｉｅｎｄｓ,               ａ               ｆａｉｒ,               ｂｅａｒｄｅｄ               ｍａｎ               ｉｎ               ａ               ｓｕｉｔ,               ａｎｄ               ｈｉｓ               ｄａｒｋ,               ｅｘｔｒｏｖｅｒｔ               ｗｉｆｅ,               ｂｏｔｈ               ｏｆ               ｗｈｏｍ               ｂｅｈａｖｅｄ               ｐｒｏｔｅｃｔｉｖｅｌｙ               ｔｏｗａｒｄｓ               Ｄａｖｉｄ               ｔｈａｔ               ｎｉｇｈｔ,               ａｓ               ｄｉｄ               Ｎｏｒｍａ.

Ｅａｒｌｙ               ｏｎ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｅｖｅｎｉｎｇ,               ｓｈｅ               ｂｅｃａｍｅ               ｉｎｃｅｎｓｅｄ               ｗｈｅｎ               ａ               ｇｒｏｕｐ               ｏｆ               ｏｌｄｅｒ               ｓｅａｍｅｎ               ｓｔａｒｔｅｄ               ｒｉｂｂｉｎｇ               ｈｉｍ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｔｈｅｉｒ               ｔａｂｌｅ,               ｗｈｉｃｈ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｂｏｔｈｅｒ               Ｄａｖｉｄ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｌｉｇｈｔｅｓｔ,               ａｓ               ｔｈｅｓｅ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｓｈｉｐｍａｔｅｓ               ｏｆ               ｈｉｓ,               ａｎｄ               ｈｅ               ｋｎｅｗ               ｔｈｅｙ               ｍｅａｎｔ               ｎｏ               ｒｅａｌ               ｈａｒｍ.

Ｍｉｌｉｔａｒｙ               ｌｉｆｅ,               ａｆｔｅｒ               ａｌｌ,               ｉｓ               ｆｕｅｌｌｅｄ               ｂｙ               ｒａｉｌｌｅｒｙ,               ｂｕｔ               ｍａｋｉｎｇ               ｓｕｒｅ               ｔｏ               ｍｏｃｋ               ｔｈｅｉｒ               ｃｏｃｋｎｅｙ               ａｃｃｅｎｔｓ               ｄｅｓｐｉｔｅ               ｂｅｉｎｇ               ａ               ｎｏｒｔｈｅｒｎ               ｇｉｒｌ               ｈｅｒｓｅｌｆ,               ｓｈｅ               ｉｎｓｉｓｔｅｄ,
               "Ｔｈｅｙ'ｒｅ               ｏｎｌｙ               ｄｏｉｎｇ               ｉｔ               ｂｅｃａｕｓｅ               ｙｏｕ'ｒｅ               ｂｅｔｔｅｒ               ｔｈａｎ               ｗｈａｔ               ｔｈｅｙ               ａｒｅ".
               Ｔｈｅ               ｔｈｉｎｇ               ｉｓ,               ｔｈｏｕｇｈ,               Ｄａｖｉｄ               ｗｏｕｌｄ               ｌａｔｅｒ               ｒｅａｓｏｎ,               ｗｉｔｈ               ｔｈｅｍ,               ｗｈａｔ               ｙｏｕ               ｓａｗ               ｉｓ               ｗｈａｔ               ｙｏｕ               ｇｏｔ,               ａｎｄ               ｉｆ               ｔｈａｔ               ｗａｓｎ'ｔ               ａｌｗａｙｓ               ｐｒｅｔｔｙ,               ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｎｏｔｈｉｎｇ               ｉｆ               ｎｏｔ               ｈｏｎｅｓｔ
               Ｓｉｎｃｅ               1974,               Ｄａｖｉｄ               ｈａｄ               ｗｏｒｓｈｉｐｐｅｄ               ａｔ               ｔｈｅ               ａｌｔａｒ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｏｓｅ               ａｒｔｉｓｔｓ               ｗｈｏ               ｈａｄ               ｅｉｔｈｅｒ               ｉｍｍｅｄｉａｔｅｌｙ               ｐｒｅｄａｔｅｄ               ｔｈｅ               ａｇｅ               ｏｆ               Ｍｏｄｅｒｎｉｓｍ               ｏｆ               ｃａ.

1880-1920,               ｏｒ               ｂｅｅｎ               ｐａｒｔ               ｏｆ               ｉｔｓ               Ｂａｎｑｕｅｔ               Ｙｅａｒｓ,               ａｎｄ               ｂｅｙｏｎｄ               ｉｎｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               Ｇｏｌｄｅｎ               Ｔｗｅｎｔｉｅｓ,               ｔｈｅ               Ａｎｎéｅｓ               ｆｏｌｌｅｓ               ａｎｄ               ｓｏ               ｏｎ.
               Ｈｏｗｅｖｅｒ,               ｉｎ               1976,               ａ               ｇａｕｄｙ               ｎｅｗ               ｅｒａ               ｓｔａｒｔｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｉｎｆｌｕｅｎｃｅ               ｔｈｅ               ｗａｙ               ｈｅ               ｄｒｅｓｓｅｄ               ａｎｄ               ａｃｔｅｄ,               ａｎｄ               ｆｏｒ               ｍｕｃｈ               ｏｆ               ｔｈａｔ               ｙｅａｒ,               ｈｅ               ｄｒｅｓｓｅｄ               ｄｏｗｎ               ｉｎ               ａ               ｗｏｒｋｍａｎｌｉｋｅ               ｕｎｉｆｏｒｍ               ｏｆ               ｒｅｄ               ｗｉｎｄｃｈｅａｔｅｒ,               ｗｈｉｔｅ               ｔｅｅ-ｓｈｉｒｔ               ａｎｄ               ｃｕｆｆｅｄ               ｊｅａｎｓ               ａｓ               ｗｏｒｎ               ｂｙ               '50ｓ               ｉｃｏｎ               Ｊａｍｅｓ               Ｄｅａｎ               ｉｎ               "Ｒｅｂｅｌ               Ｗｉｔｈｏｕｔ               ａ               Ｃａｕｓｅ".
               Ｄｅａｎ               ｈａｄ               ｄｉｅｄ               ａ               ｗｅｅｋ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｄａｙ               ｂｅｆｏｒｅ               Ｄａｖｉｄ               ｗａｓ               ｂｏｒｎ               ｉｎ               ｌａｔｅ               1955,               ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅ               20ｔｈ               ａｎｎｉｖｅｒｓａｒｙ               ｏｆ               ｈｉｓ               ｄｅａｔｈ               ａｐｐｅａｒｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｅｘｅｒｔ               ａ               ｓｔｒｏｎｇ               ｉｎｆｌｕｅｎｃｅ               ｏｎ               ｒｉｓｉｎｇ               Ｐｏｐ               ｓｔａｒｓ               ｓｕｃｈ               ａｓ               Ｊｏｈｎ               Ｍｉｌｅｓ               ａｎｄ               Ｓｌｉｋ'ｓ               Ｍｉｄｇｅ               Ｕｒｅ.
               Ｓｌｉｋ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｏｎｅ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｂｉｇｇｅｓｔ               ｂａｎｄｓ               ｉｎ               Ｂｒｉｔａｉｎ               ｉｎ               1976               ｗｉｔｈ               ａｎ               ｉｍａｇｅ               ｓｔｒａｉｇｈｔ               ｏｕｔ               ｏｆ               "Ｒｅｂｅｌ"               ｏｒ               ａ               ｄｏｚｅｎ               ｌｅｓｓｅｒ               ｆｉｆｔｉｅｓ               ｄｅｌｉｎｑｕｅｎｔ               ｍｏｖｉｅｓ.

Ｓａｄｌｙ               ｆｏｒ               ｔｈｅｍ,               ｔｈｏｕｇｈ,               ａｎｄ               ｆｏｒ               ｍａｎｙ               ｏｔｈｅｒ               ｂａｎｄｓ               ｗｈｏ'ｄ               ｓｕｒｆｅｄ               ｔｈｅ               Ｇｌａｍ               Ｒｏｃｋ               ｗａｖｅ               ｏｒ               ｅｍｅｒｇｅｄ               ｉｎ               ｉｔｓ               ｗａｋｅ,               ｔｈｅｙ               ｗｏｕｌｄ               ｂｅ               ｕｎｊｕｓｔｌｙ               ｏｕｓｔｅｄ               ｂｙ               ｔｈｅ               Ｐｕｎｋ               ｕｐｒｉｓｉｎｇ.
               Ａｓ               ｅｎｔｒａｎｃｅｄ               ａｓ               Ｄａｖｉｄ               ｗａｓ               ｂｙ               ｔｈｅ               ｆｉｆｔｉｅｓ,               ｔｈｅｒｅ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｓｔｉｌｌ               ｔｉｍｅｓ               ｗｈｅｎ               ｈｅ               ｒｅｖｅｒｔｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｏｌｄ               ｅｓｃａｐｉｓｔ               ｄａｎｄｙ               ｉｍａｇｅ               ｈｅ'ｄ               ａｄｏｐｔｅｄ               ｉｎ               ｄｅｆｉａｎｃｅ               ｏｆ               ｗｈａｔ               ｈｅ               ｓａｗ               ａｓ               ｔｈｅ               ｌｅａｄｅｎ               ｄｒａｂｎｅｓｓ               ｏｆ               ｐｏｓｔ-Ｈｉｐｐｉｅ               Ｂｒｉｔａｉｎ,               ｗｈｉｌｅ               ｄｉｓｃｏｖｅｒｉｎｇ               Ｍｏｄｅｒｎｉｓｔ               ｇｉａｎｔｓ               ｓｕｃｈ               ａｓ               Ｂａｕｄｅｌａｉｒｅ,               Ｗｉｌｄｅ,               Ｇｉｄｅ,               ａｎｄ               Ｃｏｃｔｅａｕ               ｆｏｒ               ｔｈｅ               ｆｉｒｓｔ               ｔｉｍｅ.
               Ｏｎｅ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅｓｅ               ｏｃｃａｓｉｏｎｓ               ｃａｍｅ               ｄｕｒｉｎｇ               ｔｈｅ               ｄｙｉｎｇ               ｄａｙｓ               ｏｆ               ａ               ｆａｍｏｕｓ               ｌｏｎｇ               ｈｏｔ               ｓｕｍｍｅｒ,               ｗｈｅｎ               ｈｅ               ｗｏｒｅ               ｔｏｐ               ｈａｔ               ａｎｄ               ｔａｉｌｓ               ａｎｄ               ｈｉｓ               ｆｉｎｇｅｒｎａｉｌｓ               ｐａｉｎｔｅｄ               ｂｒｉｇｈｔ               ｒｅｄ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｓｏｍｅ               ｋｉｎｄ               ｏｆ               ｈｅｌｌｉｓｈ               ｖｉｓｉｏｎ               ｆｒｏｍ               Ｗｅｉｍａｒ               Ｂｅｒｌｉｎ               ｔｏ               ａ               ｐａｒｔｙ               ｈｏｓｔｅｄ               ｂｙ               ａ               ｆｒｉｅｎｄ               ｆｒｏｍ               Ｂｒｏｏｋｌａｎｄｓ.
               Ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｍｉｄ-Ｓｅｐｔｅｍｂｅｒ,               ａｎｄ               Ｄａｖｉｄ               ｗｏｕｌｄ               ｈａｖｅ               ｂｅｅｎ               ａｔ               ｓｅａ               ａｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｔｉｍｅ,               ｓｅｒｖｉｎｇ               ａｓ               Ａｂｌｅ               Ｓｅａｍａｎ               Ｄａｖｉｄ               Ｃｒｉｓｔｉａｎｓｅｎ               ｏｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｍｉｎｅｓｗｅｅｐｅｒ               ＨＭＳ               Ｆｉｔｔｌｅｔｏｎ.
               Ａ               ｄａｙ               ｏｒ               ｓｏ               ａｆｔｅｒｗａｒｄｓ,               ｔｈｅｒｅ               ｗａｓ               ａ               ｔｒａｇｉｃ               ａｃｃｉｄｅｎｔ               ｉｎｖｏｌｖｉｎｇ               Ｆｉｔｔｌｅｔｏｎ               ａｎｄ               ａ               ｆａｒ               ｌａｒｇｅｒ               ｓｈｉｐ,               ｗｈｉｃｈ               ｒｅｓｕｌｔｅｄ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｌｏｓｓ               ｏｆ               ｔｗｅｌｖｅ               ｍｅｎ,               ｍｏｓｔ               ｏｆ               ｗｈｏｍ               ｈｅ               ｋｎｅｗ               ｐｅｒｓｏｎａｌｌｙ.

Ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｔｗｅｌｖｅ               ｗｈｏ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｓｕｒｖｉｖｅ,               Ｄａｖｉｄ               ｋｎｅｗ               ｔｈｒｅｅ               ｑｕｉｔｅ               ｗｅｌｌ,               ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅｙ               ｗｅｒｅ               ａｌｌ               ｍｅｎ               ｏｆ               ｒｅｍａｒｋａｂｌｅ               ｇｅｎｅｒｏｓｉｔｙ               ｏｆ               ｓｐｉｒｉｔ               ａｎｄ               ｓｗｅｅｔｎｅｓｓ               ｏｆ               ｄｉｓｐｏｓｉｔｉｏｎ,               ａｎｄ               ｉｔ               ｂｒｏｋｅ               ｈｉｓ               ｈｅａｒｔ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｉｎｋ               ｏｆ               ｗｈａｔ               ｈａｐｐｅｎｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅｍ.

Ｈｅ               ｓｏ               ｗａｎｔｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｃｏｍｆｏｒｔ               ｈｉｓ               ｓｈｉｐｍａｔｅｓ               ｆｏｒ               ｔｈｅｉｒ               ｌｏｓｓ,               ｔｏ               ｂｏｎｄ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｔｈｅｍ               ａｎｄ               ｂｅ               ｐａｒｔ               ｏｆ               ｗｈａｔ               ｔｈｅｙ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｇｏｉｎｇ               ｔｈｒｏｕｇｈ.

Ｈｅ               ｗａｎｔｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｈａｖｅ               ｓｕｒｖｉｖｅｄ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｔｈｅｍ.

Ｈｅ               ｗｅｎｔ               ｏｖｅｒ               ｉｔ               ａｌｌ               ａｇａｉｎ               ａｎｄ               ａｇａｉｎ               ｉｎ               ｈｉｓ               ｍｉｎｄ,               ｕｎｔｉｌ               ｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ｄｒｉｖｅｎ               ａｌｍｏｓｔ               ｉｎｓａｎｅ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｒｅｇｒｅｔ               ａｎｄ               ｇｒｉｅｆ.

Ｏｎｃｅ               ｍｏｒｅ               ｈｅ'ｄ               ｔａｋｅｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｅａｓｙ               ｗａｙ               ｏｕｔ,               ｂｕｔ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｔｉｍｅ               ｉｔ               ｗｏｕｌｄｎ'ｔ               ｂｅ               ｓｏ               ｅａｓｙ               ｆｏｒ               ｈｉｍ               ｔｏ               ｆｏｒｇｅｔ               ｏｒ               ｅｘｐｌａｉｎ               ａｗａｙ.
               Ｔｈｅ               ｆｏｌｌｏｗｉｎｇ               ｙｅａｒ               ｗａｓ               ａ               ｆａｒ               ｄａｒｋｅｒ               ｏｎｅ               ｔｈａｎ               ｔｈｏｓｅ               ｔｈａｔ               ｃａｍｅ               ｂｅｆｏｒｅ               ｉｔ,               ｂｅｃａｕｓｅ               ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｍａｒｋｅｄ               ｂｙ               ｔｈｅ               ｖｉｏｌｅｎｔ               ｉｒｒｕｐｔｉｏｎ               ｉｎｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               Ｂｒｉｔｉｓｈ               ｃｕｌｔｕｒａｌ               ｍａｉｎｓｔｒｅａｍ               ｏｆ               Ｐｕｎｋ.
               Ｆｒｏｍ               ｉｔｓ               Ｌｏｎｄｏｎ               ａｘｉｓ,               ｉｔ               ｓｐｒｅａｄ               ｌｉｋｅ               ａ               ｒａｇｉｎｇ               ｐｌａｇｕｅ...ｅｖｅｎ               ｉｎｆｅｃｔｉｎｇ               ｔｈｅ               ｍｏｓｔ               ｇｅｎｔｅｅｌ               ｓｕｂｕｒｂｓ               ｗｉｔｈ               ａｎ               ｅｘｔｒｅｍｅ               ａｎｄ               ｏｆｔｅｎ               ｈｏｒｒｉｆｙｉｎｇ               ｓａｒｔｏｒｉａｌ               ｅｃｃｅｎｔｒｉｃｉｔｙ,               ｗｈｉｃｈ,               ｆｕｓｅｄ               ｗｉｔｈ               ａ               ｄｅｆｉａｎｔ               ＤＩＹ               ｅｔｈｉｃ               ａｎｄ               ａ               ｂｒｕｔａｌ               ｂａｃｋ-ｔｏ-ｂａｓｉｃｓ               ｂｒａｎｄ               ｏｆ               ｈａｒｄ-ｄｒｉｖｉｎｇ               Ｒｏｃｋ               ｐｒｏｄｕｃｅｄ               ｓｏｍｅｔｈｉｎｇ               ｕｔｔｅｒｌｙ               ｕｎｉｑｕｅ               ｅｖｅｎ               ｂｙ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｔａｎｄａｒｄｓ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｔｉｍｅ.
               Ｄａｖｉｄ               ｗａｓ               ａｓｓａｕｌｔｅｄ               ｆｏｒ               ｔｈｅ               ｆｉｒｓｔ               ｔｉｍｅ               ｂｙ               ｔｈｅ               ｍｏｎｓｔｒｏｕｓ               ｖａｒｉｅｔｉｅｓ               ｏｆ               ｄｒｅｓｓ               ａｄｏｐｔｅｄ               ｂｙ               ｔｈｅ               ｅａｒｌｙ               Ｐｕｎｋｓ               ｗｈｉｌｅ               ｓｔｒｏｌｌｉｎｇ               ａｌｏｎｇ               ｔｈｅ               Ｋｉｎｇｓ               Ｒｏａｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｍｏｒｎｉｎｇ               ａｆｔｅｒ               ａ               ｐａｒｔｙ               ｉｎ               Ｊａｎｕａｒｙ               1977,               ａｎｄ               ｉｔ               ｗｏｕｌｄ               ｏｎｌｙ               ｂｅ               ａ               ｍａｔｔｅｒ               ｏｆ               ｔｉｍｅ               ｂｅｆｏｒｅ               ｈｅ               ｔｏｏ               ｈｏｐｅｄ               ｔｏ               ａｓｔｏｕｎｄ               ｏｔｈｅｒｓ               ｔｈｅ               ｗａｙ               ｔｈｅｙ'ｄ               ｄｏｎｅ               ｈｉｍ.
               Ｈｏｗｅｖｅｒ,               ｆｏｒ               ｍｏｓｔ               ｏｆ               '77,               ｈｅ               ｄｒｅｓｓｅｄ               ｉｎ               ａ               ｍｕｔｅｄ               ｆｏｒｍ               ｗｈｉｃｈ               ｆｉｒｓｔ               ｔｏｏｋ               ｓｈａｐｅ               ａｓ               ａ               ｐａｉｒ               ｏｆ               ｃｒｅａｍ               ｂｒｏｇｕｅ               ｗｉｎｋｌｅｐｉｃｋｅｒｓ,               ｗｈｉｃｈ               ｈｅ               ｗｅｎｔ               ｏｎ               ｔｏ               ｓｕｐｐｌｅｍｅｎｔ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｂｌａｃｋ               ｓｌｉｐ-ｏｎｓ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｇｏｌｄ               ｓｉｄｅ               ｂｕｃｋｌｅｓ,               ｍｏｃｋ-               ｃｒｏｃｏｄｉｌｅ               ｓｋｉｎ               ｓｈｏｅｓ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｓｑｕａｒｅｄ               ｏｆｆ               ｔｏｅｓ,               ａｎｄ               ａ               ｐａｉｒ               ｏｆ               ｂｌａｃｋ               Ｃｈｅｌｓｅａ               ｂｏｏｔｓ,               ａｌｌ               ｐｅｒｉｌｏｕｓｌｙ               ｐｏｉｎｔｅｄ.
               Ｈｉｓ               ｎｅｗ               ｌｏｏｋ               ｅｖｏｌｖｅｄ               ｂｙ               ｄｅｇｒｅｅｓ               ａｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｅｎｄｌｅｓｓ               ｓｅｒｉｅｓ               ｏｆ               ｐａｒｔｉｅｓ               ｈｅ               ａｔｔｅｎｄｅｄ               ａｓ               ｏｎｅ               ａｆｔｅｒ               ｔｈｅ               ｏｔｈｅｒ               ｏｆ               ｈｉｓ               ｏｌｄ               Ｐａｎｇｂｏｕｒｎｅ               ｐａｌｓ               ｃｅｌｅｂｒａｔｅｄ               ｔｈｅｉｒ               21ｓｔ               ｉｎ               ｈｏｕｓｅｓ               ａｎｄ               ａｐａｒｔｍｅｎｔｓ               ｉｎ               ｖａｒｉｏｕｓ               ｃｏｒｎｅｒｓ               ｏｆ               ｔｒｅｎｄｙ               Ｗｅｓｔ               ａｎｄ               Ｃｅｎｔｒａｌ               Ｌｏｎｄｏｎ.

Ｏｆ               ａｌｌ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅｓｅ,               ｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ｐｅｒｈａｐｓ               ｃｌｏｓｅｓｔ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｆｕｔｕｒｅ               ｏｉｌ               ｍａｇｎａｔｅ               Ｃｈｒｉｓ,               ｗｈｏ               ｗａｓ               ｓｔｉｌｌ               ｆｉｎｄｉｎｇ               ｈｉｓ               ｆｅｅｔ               ｉｎ               Ｌｏｎｄｏｎ'ｓ               ｍｏｓｔ               ｅｘａｌｔｅｄ               ｓｏｃｉａｌ               ｃｉｒｃｌｅｓ.

Ｔｈｅｓｅ               ｉｎｃｌｕｄｅｄ               Ａｄｒｉａｎ               Ｐｒｏｕｓｔ,               ａ               ｆｒｉｅｎｄ               ｏｆ               Ｃｈｒｉｓ'               ｆｒｏｍ               ｔｈｅ               ｎｏｒｔｈ               ｏｆ               Ｅｎｇｌａｎｄ               ｗｈｏ               ｆｏｒｇｅｄ               ｃｕｔｔｉｎｇ               ｅｄｇｅ               ｉｍａｇｅｓ               ｆｏｒ               ｓｏｍｅ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｍｏｓｔ               ｐｏｗｅｒｆｕｌ               ｔｒｅｎｄｓｅｔｔｅｒｓ               ｉｎ               Ｒｏｃｋ               ｍｕｓｉｃ.

Ｄａｖｉｄ               ｊｏｉｎｅｄ               ｔｈｅｍ               ａ               ｃｏｕｐｌｅ               ｏｆ               ｔｉｍｅｓ               ａｔ               Ｍａｕｎｋｂｅｒｒｙｓ               ｉｎ               Ｊｅｒｍｙｎ               Ｓｔｒｅｅｔ;               ａｎｄ               ａｐａｒｔ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｔｈｅ               Ｓｏｍｂｒｅｒｏ               ｉｎ               Ｈｉｇｈ               Ｓｔｒｅｅｔ               Ｋｅｎ,               ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｔｈｅ               ｃｌａｓｓｉｅｓｔ               ｃｌｕｂ               ｈｉｓ               ｓｕｂｕｒｂａｎ               ｅｙｅｓ               ｈａｄ               ｅｖｅｒ               ｓｅｅｎ.
               Ｂｅｉｎｇ               ｔｈｅ               ｒｕｂｅ               ｈｅ               ｗａｓ,               ｈｅ               ｔｈｏｕｇｈｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｔｙｌｅ               ｔｈａｔ               ｄｏｍｉｎａｔｅｄ               Ｌｏｎｄｏｎ'ｓ               ｃｌｕｂ               ｌａｎｄ               ｗａｓ               ｓｏｍｅｈｏｗ               Ｐｕｎｋ-ｒｅｌａｔｅｄ,               ｂｕｔ               ｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ｗａｙ               ｏｆｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｍａｒｋ.

Ｗｈｉｌｅ               ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｔｈｅ               ａｎｔｉｔｈｅｓｉｓ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｍｉｄｄｌｅ               ｃｌａｓｓ               ｈｉｐｐｉｅ               ｌｏｏｋ               ｔｈａｔ               ｗａｓ               ｓｔｉｌｌ               ｗｉｄｅｓｐｒｅａｄ               ｔｈｒｏｕｇｈｏｕｔ               ｔｈｅ               ＵＫ,               ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｄｅｐｌｏｙｅｄ               ｆｏｒ               ｐｏｓｉｎｇ,               ａｎｄ               ｄａｎｃｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｗｅｅｔｅｓｔ               Ｓｏｕｌ               ｍｕｓｉｃ,               ｎｏｔ               ａｓ               ａ               ｇｅｓｔｕｒｅ               ｏｆ               ｖｉｏｌｅｎｔ               ｓｏｃｉａｌ               ｄｉｓｓｅｎｔ.
               Ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｐａｒｔｌｙ               ｔｈｅ               ｒｅａｌｍ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               Ｓｏｕｌ               Ｂｏｙｓ,               ｗｈｏｓｅ               ｌｏｖｅ               ｏｆ               ｂｌａｃｋ               ｄａｎｃｅ               ｍｕｓｉｃ               ｗａｓ               ａ               ｌｅｇａｃｙ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               Ｍｏｄｓ               ａｎｄ               Ｓｋｉｎｓ               ｔｈａｔ               ｐｒｅｃｅｄｅｄ               ｔｈｅｍ.

Ｗｈｉｌｅ               ｔｈｅ               Ｓｏｕｌ               Ｂｏｙｓ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｌａｒｇｅｌｙ               ｗｏｒｋｉｎｇ               ｃｌａｓｓ               ｈａｒｄ               ｎｕｔｓ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｖａｒｉｏｕｓ               ｄｉｓｍａｌ               Ｌｏｎｄｏｎ               ｓｕｂｕｒｂｓ,               ｓｏｍｅ               Ｓｏｕｌ               ｌｏｖｅｒｓ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｉｎ               ｆａｃｔ               ｎｏｔ               Ｓｏｕｌ               Ｂｏｙｓ               ａｔ               ａｌｌ,               ｓｏ               ｍｕｃｈ               ａｓ               ｅｌｅｇａｎｔ               ｔｒｅｎｄｉｅｓ               ｗｉｔｈ               ａ               ｐｅｎｃｈａｎｔ               ｆｏｒ               ｆｌｏｐｐｙ               ｃｏｌｌｅｇｅ               ｂｏｙ               ｆｒｉｎｇｅｓ,               ｐｌａｉｄ               ｓｈｉｒｔｓ               ｗｏｒｎ               ｏｖｅｒ               ｗｈｉｔｅ               ｔｅｅ-ｓｈｉｒｔｓ,               ｓｔｒａｉｇｈｔ               ｌｅｇ               ｊｅａｎｓ,               ａｎｄ               ｗｉｎｋｌｅｐｉｃｋｅｒｓ.
               Ｔｈｅ               Ｓｏｕｌ               Ｂｏｙｓ               ａｌｓｏ               ｆａｖｏｕｒｅｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｗｅｄｇｅ               ｈａｉｒｃｕｔ,               ｗｈｉｃｈ               ｃｏｕｌｄ               ｂｅ               ｗｏｒｎ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｓｔｒｅａｋｓ               ｏｆ               ｂｌｏｎｄ               ｏｒ               ｒｅｄ               ｏｒ               ｅｖｅｎ               ｇｒｅｅｎ,               ｂｒｉｇｈｔｌｙ-ｃｏｌｏｕｒｅｄ               ｐｅｇ-ｔｏｐ               ｔｒｏｕｓｅｒｓ               ａｎｄ               ｗｉｎｋｌｅｐｉｃｋｅｒｓ               ｏｒ               ｐｌａｓｔｉｃ               ｂｅａｃｈ               ｓａｎｄａｌｓ.

Ｓｐｅａｋｉｎｇ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｗｅｄｇｅ,               ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｔａｋｅｎ               ｕｐ               ａｔ               ｓｏｍｅ               ｐｏｉｎｔ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｌａｔｅ               1970ｓ               ｂｙ               ａ               ｆａｃｔｉｏｎ               ｏｆ               Ｌｉｖｅｒｐｏｏｌ               ｆｏｏｔｂａｌｌ               ｆａｎｓ               ｗｈｏ'ｄ               ｄｅｖｅｌｏｐｅｄ               ａ               ｔａｓｔｅ               ｆｏｒ               Ｅｕｒｏｐｅａｎ               ｄｅｓｉｇｎｅｒ               ｓｐｏｒｔｓｗｅａｒ               ｗｈｉｌｅ               ｔｒａｖｅｌｌｉｎｇ               ｏｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｃｏｎｔｉｎｅｎｔ               ｆｏｒ               ａｗａｙ               ｍａｔｃｈｅｓ.

Ｔｈｅｎｃｅ,               ｔｈｅ               Ｃａｓｕａｌ               ｓｕｂｃｕｌｔｕｒｅ               ｗａｓ               ｓｐａｗｎｅｄ,               ａｎｄ               ｉｔｓ               ｐａｓｓｉｏｎ               ｆｏｒ               ｄｅｓｉｇｎｅｒ               ｌａｂｅｌｓ               ｐｅｒｓｉｓｔｓ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｄａｙ               ａｍｏｎｇ               ｔｈｅ               Ｂｒｉｔｉｓｈ               ｗｏｒｋｉｎｇ               ｃｌａｓｓｅｓ               ｉｎ               ｅｖｅｒｙ               ｓｍａｌｌ               ｔｏｗｎ               ａｎｄ               ｓｈｏｐｐｉｎｇ               ｍａｌｌ               ｔｈｒｏｕｇｈｏｕｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｌａｎｄ.
               Ｂｙ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｕｍｍｅｒ,               Ｄａｖｉｄ               ｗａｓ               ｗｏｒｋｉｎｇ               ａｓ               ａ               ｓａｉｌｉｎｇ               ｉｎｓｔｒｕｃｔｏｒ               ｉｎ               Ｐａｌａｍｏｓ               ｏｎ               Ｓｐａｉｎ'ｓ               Ｃｏｓｔａ               Ｂｒａｖａ,               ｂｕｔ               ｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ａｎ               ｉｄｌｅ               ａｎｄ               ｉｎｃｏｍｐｅｔｅｎｔ               ｗｏｒｋｅｒ,               ａｎｄ               ａｆｔｅｒ               ａ               ｆｅｗ               ｍｏｎｔｈｓ,               ｇｏｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｓａｃｋ.

Ｙｅｔ,               ｈｅ               ｃｈｏｓｅ               ｔｏ               ｓｔａｙ               ｏｎ               ｉｎ               Ｐａｌａｍｏｓ,               ｐａｒａｄｉｎｇ               ａｒｏｕｎｄ               ｔｏｗｎ               ｂｙ               ｄａｙ,               ｗｈｉｌｅ               ｓｐｅｎｄｉｎｇ               ｍｏｓｔ               ｏｆ               ｈｉｓ               ｅｖｅｎｉｎｇｓ               ａｔ               ｔｈｅ               Ｄｉｓｃｏ               ｄａｎｃｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               Ｄｏｎｎａ               Ｓｕｍｍｅｒ'ｓ               "Ｌｏｖｅ               Ｔｒｉｌｏｇｙ".
               Ａｓ               ｍｕｃｈ               ａｓ               ｈｅ               ｌｏｖｅｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｐａｒｔｙ               ｌｉｆｅ,               ｗｈａｔ               ｈｅ               ｗａｎｔｅｄ               ｍｏｓｔ               ｏｆ               ａｌｌ               ｗａｓ               ｔｏ               ｅｎｊｏｙ               ｉｔ               ａｓ               ａ               ｓｕｃｃｅｓｓｆｕｌ               ｗｏｒｋｉｎｇ               ａｃｔｏｒ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｇｏｌｄｅｎ               ｂｏｙｓ               Ｐｅｔｅｒ               Ｆｉｒｔｈ               ａｎｄ               Ｇｅｒｒｙ               Ｓｕｎｄｑｕｉｓｔ,               ｂｏｔｈ               ｏｆ               ｗｈｏｍ               ｆｏｕｎｄ               ｆａｍｅ               ｏｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｔａｇｅ               ｂｅｆｏｒｅ               ｂｒａｎｃｈｉｎｇ               ｏｕｔ               ｉｎｔｏ               ｍｏｖｉｅｓ               ａｎｄ               ＴＶ,               ａｓ               ｏｐｐｏｓｅｄ               ｔｏ               ａ               ｐｒｅｔｔｙ               ｎｏｎｅｎｔｉｔｙ               ｓｕｃｈ               ａｓ               ｈｅ               ｗａｓ.

Ｔｈｅ               ｐｒｏｂｌｅｍ               ｗａｓ,               ｈｅ               ｗａｓｎ'ｔ               ｒｅａｌｌｙ               ｃｕｔ               ｏｕｔ               ｆｏｒ               ｔｈｅ               ｔａｓｋ.

Ｇｒａｎｔｅｄ,               ｈｅ               ｈａｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｐｒｅｔｔｙ               ｂｏｙ               ｌｏｏｋｓ,               ｂｕｔ               ｖｅｒｙ               ｆｅｗ               ａｃｔｏｒｓ,               ｏｒ               ｅｖｅｎ               ｍｕｓｉｃｉａｎｓ,               ｂｅｃｏｍｅ               ｔｒｕｌｙ               ｓｕｃｃｅｓｓｆｕｌ               ｏｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｔｒｅｎｇｔｈ               ｏｆ               ｌｏｏｋｓ               ａｌｏｎｅ,               ａｎｄ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｗａｓ               ｅｓｐｅｃｉａｌｌｙ               ｔｒｕｅ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｅｖｅｎｔｉｅｓ,               ａｎ               ａｇｅ               ｗｉｔｈｏｕｔ               ＭＰ3ｓ               ｏｒ               Ｍｙ               Ｓｐａｃｅ               ｏｒ               ｅｎｄｌｅｓｓ               ＴＶ               ｔａｌｅｎｔ               ｓｈｏｗｃａｓｅｓ.
               Ｈｅ'ｄ               ｎｏｔ               ｙｅｔ               ａｐｐｅａｒｅｄ               ｉｎ               ａ               ｓｉｎｇｌｅ               ｐｌａｙ,               ｅｘｃｅｐｔ               ｆｏｒ               ａ               ｈａｎｄｆｕｌ               ａｔ               Ｐａｎｇｂｏｕｒｎｅ,               ｗｈｉｃｈ               ｉｎｃｌｕｄｅｄ               ｎｏ               ｌｅｓｓ               ｔｈａｎ               ｔｈｒｅｅ               ｉｎ               ｄｒａｇ.

Ｏｎｅ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅｓｅ               ｈａｄ               ｈｉｍ               ｓｔａｎｄｉｎｇ               ｏｎｓｔａｇｅ               ｆｏｒ               ａ               ｆｅｗ               ｂｒｉｅｆ               ｍｉｎｕｔｅｓ               ｗｉｔｈｏｕｔ               ｕｔｔｅｒｉｎｇ               ａ               ｓｉｎｇｌｅ               ｗｏｒｄ.

Ａｎｏｔｈｅｒ               ｗａｓ               ａｓ               ａ               ｍａｉｄ               ｉｎ               ａ               ｏｎｅ-ａｃｔ               ｐｌａｙ               ｂｙ               Ｓｈａｗ               ｃａｌｌｅｄ               "Ｐａｓｓｉｏｎ,               Ｐｏｉｓｏｎ               ａｎｄ               Ｐｅｔｒｉｆａｃｔｉｏｎ",               ｗｈｉｃｈ               ｓａｗ               ｈｉｍ               ｃｌｏｍｐｉｎｇ               ａｒｏｕｎｄ               ｉｎ               ａ               ｄｒｅｓｓ               ａｎｄ               ｓｔｕｄｄｅｄ               ｍｉｌｉｔａｒｙ               ｂｏｏｔｓ,               ｗｈｉｌｅ               ｓｑｕａｗｋｉｎｇ               ｉｎ               ａ               ｈｙｓｔｅｒｉｃａｌ               ｆａｌｓｅｔｔｏ.

Ｈｉｓ               ｏｎｌｙ               ｍａｌｅ               ｒｏｌｅ               ｗａｓ               ａｓ               ａｎ               ｅｆｆｅｍｉｎａｔｅ               ｐｓｙｃｈｏｐａｔｈ               ｉｎ               ａ               ｌｉｔｔｌｅ               ｋｎｏｗｎ               Ａｇａｔｈａ               Ｃｈｒｉｓｔｉｅ               ｏｎｅ-ａｃｔｅｒ               ｃａｌｌｅｄ               "Ｔｈｅ               Ｒａｔｓ",               ｏｎｅ               ｏｆ               ｗｈｏｓｅ               ｋｅｙ               ｌｉｎｅｓ               ｗａｓ:
               "Ｄａｒｌｉｎｇｓ,               ｈｏｗ               ｄｅｖａｓｔａｔｉｎｇ!"
               Ａｎｄ               ｉｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｐｒａｉｓｅ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｃｏｌｌｅｇｅ               ｎｕｒｓｅ               ｗａｓ               ａｎｙｔｈｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ｇｏ               ｂｙ,               ｉｔ               ｓｈｏｗｅｄ               ｒｅａｌ               ｐｒｏｍｉｓｅ.

Ｗｈｅｎ               ａｌｌ'ｓ               ｓａｉｄ               ａｎｄ               ｄｏｎｅ,               ｔｈｏｕｇｈ,               ｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ｈａｒｄｌｙ               ａ               Ｎａｔｉｏｎａｌ               Ｙｏｕｔｈ               Ｔｈｅａｔｒｅ               ｗｕｎｄｅｒｋｉｎｄ.
               Ｉｎ               ｔｅｒｍｓ               ｏｆ               ｈｉｓ               ｏｔｈｅｒ               "ｔａｌｅｎｔｓ",               ｈｅ'ｄ               ｗｒｉｔｔｅｎ               ａ               ｆｅｗ               ｓｉｍｐｌｅ               ｓｏｎｇｓ               ｏｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｇｕｉｔａｒ,               ｂｕｔ               ｈｅ               ｓｔｉｌｌ               ｃｏｕｌｄｎ'ｔ               ｐｌａｙ               ｂａｒ               ｃｈｏｒｄｓ.

Ｈｉｓ               ｓｉｎｇｉｎｇ               ｖｏｉｃｅ               ｗａｓ               ｇｏｏｄ,               ｔｈｏｕｇｈ,               ａｎｄ               ａｌｒｅａｄｙ               ｑｕｉｔｅ               ｖｅｒｓａｔｉｌｅ.

Ａｓ               ａ               ｗｏｕｌｄ-ｂｅ               ｗｒｉｔｅｒ,               ｈｅ'ｄ               ｆｉｌｌｅｄ               ｃｏｕｎｔｌｅｓｓ               ｐａｇｅｓ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｅｎｄｌｅｓｓｌｙ               ｃｏｒｒｅｃｔｅｄ               ｎｏｔｅｓ,               ｂｕｔ               ｔｈｅｒｅ               ｗａｓ               ｎｏｔｈｉｎｇ               ｔａｎｇｉｂｌｅ               ｔｏ               ｓｈｏｗ               ｆｏｒ               ｉｔ               ａｌｌ.

Ｉｔ               ｃｏｕｌｄ               ｈａｒｄｌｙ               ｂｅ               ｓａｉｄ               ｔｈｅｎ               ｔｈａｔ               ｈｉｓ               ｆｕｔｕｒｅ               ｐｏｓｉｔｉｖｅｌｙ               ｇｌｉｔｔｅｒｅｄ               ｂｅｆｏｒｅ               ｍｅ.
               Ｈｉｓ               ｆｉｎａｌ               ｔｒｉｐ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｔｈｅ               ＲＮＲ               ｃａｍｅ               ｔｏｗａｒｄｓ               ｔｈｅ               ｅｎｄ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｕｍｍｅｒ.

Ｌｏｆｔｙ               Ｏ'Ｓｈｅａ               ｗａｓｎ'ｔ               ｏｎｂｏａｒｄ,               ｂｕｔ               ｈｅ               ｈａｄ               ｏｔｈｅｒ               ｍａｔｅｓ               ｔｏ               ｒａｉｓｅ               Ｃａｉｎ               ｗｉｔｈ,               ｓｕｃｈ               ａｓ               ｔｈｅ               ａｒｉｓｔｏｃｒａｔｉｃ               Ｄａｍｏｎ               Ｃａｔｅｓ.
               Ｄａｍｏｎ               ｗａｓ               ａ               ｔａｌｌ               ｒｅｄｈｅａｄ               ｏｆ               ａｂｏｕｔ               26               ｗｈｏ               ｌｏｏｋｅｄ               ａ               ｌｉｔｔｌｅ               ｌｉｋｅ               Ｅｄｗａｒｄ               Ｆｏｘ               ｉｎ               "Ａ               Ｄａｙ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               Ｊａｃｋａｌ".

Ｌｉｋｅ               Ｄａｖｉｄ,               ｈｅ               ｌｏｖｅｄ               ｍｕｓｉｃ               ａｎｄ               ｆａｓｈｉｏｎ               ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅ               Ｓｏｕｌ               Ｂｏｙ               ａｎｄ               Ｐｕｎｋ               ｓｃｅｎｅｓ,               ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅｙ               ｈｉｔ               ｉｔ               ｏｆｆ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｔｈｅｉｒ               ｖｅｒｙ               ｆｉｒｓｔ               ｍｅｅｔｉｎｇ               ｂａｃｋ               ａｔ               ｔｈｅ               Ｐｒｅｓｉｄｅｎｔ.

Ｈｅ               ｌａｔｅｒ               ｃｏｎｆｉｄｅｄ               ｉｎ               Ｄａｖｉｄ               ａｂｏｕｔ               ｈｉｓ               ｅａｒｌｙ               ｌｉｆｅ               ｗｈｉｃｈ               ｈａｄ               ｂｅｅｎ               ｍａｒｋｅｄ               ｂｙ               ｏｎｅ               ｔｒａｇｅｄｙ               ａｆｔｅｒ               ｔｈｅ               ｏｔｈｅｒ,               ａｎｄ               ｈｉｓ               ｑｕｉｅｔ               ａｎｄ               ｃｏｕｒｔｅｏｕｓ               ｍａｎｎｅｒ               ｍａｓｋｅｄ               ａ               ｔｒｏｕｂｌｅｄ               ｉｎｎｅｒ               ｌｉｆｅ               ｗｈｉｃｈ               ｈｅ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｔｏ               ｆｌａｕｎｔ               ａｎｙ               ｍｏｒｅ               ｔｈａｎ               ｈｅ               ｄｉｄ               ａｎ               ａｂｉｌｉｔｙ               ｔｏ               ｌｏｏｋ               ａｆｔｅｒ               ｈｉｍｓｅｌｆ               ｉｎ               ａｎｙ               ｓｉｔｕａｔｉｏｎ               ｎｏ               ｍａｔｔｅｒ               ｈｏｗ               ｖｉｏｌｅｎｔ.
               Ｔｈｅｒｅ               ｗａｓ               ａ               ｔｉｍｅ,               ｔｏ               ｃｉｔｅ               ａｎ               ｉｎｓｔａｎｃｅ,               ｗｈｅｎ               ａｎ               ｉｎｔｏｘｉｃａｔｅｄ               ｓａｉｌｏｒ               ｔｏｏｋ               ａ               ｓｕｄｄｅｎ,               ｖｉｏｌｅｎｔ               ｄｉｓｌｉｋｅ               ｔｏ               Ｄａｖｉｄ               ｉｎ               ａ               ｓｏｕｔｈ               ｃｏａｓｔ               ｂａｒ,               ａｎｄ               ｗａｓ               ｃｌｅａｒｌｙ               ｋｅｅｎ               ｔｏ               ｄｏ               ｓｏｍｅ               ｓｅｒｉｏｕｓ               ｄａｍａｇｅ               ｔｏ               ｈｉｓ               ｐｒｅｔｔｙ               ｃｈｅｒｕｂ'ｓ               ｆａｃｅ,               ｗｈｅｎ               Ｄａｍｏｎ               ｓｔｏｏｄ               ｉｎ               ａｎｄ               ｐｅｒｓｕａｄｅｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｓａｌｔ               ｔｏ               ｂａｃｋ               ｏｆｆ.

Ｙｏｕ               ｏｖｅｒｅｓｔｉｍａｔｅｄ               ｈｉｓ               ｒｅｆｉｎｅｍｅｎｔ               ａｔ               ｙｏｕｒ               ｐｅｒｉｌ.
               Ｄｏｕｂｔｌｅｓｓ,               ｔｈｏｕｇｈ,               ｔｈｅｒｅ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｔｈｏｓｅ               ｗｈｏ               ｗｏｎｄｅｒｅｄ               ｈｏｗ               ｈｅ               ｅｎｄｅｄ               ｕｐ               ｓｅｒｖｉｎｇ               ａｓ               ａ               ｒａｔｉｎｇ,               ｓｕｃｈ               ａｓ               ｓｏｍｅ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｇｕｙｓ               ｗｈｏ               ｓａｉｌｅｄ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｔｈｅｍ               ｔｈａｔ               ｓｕｍｍｅｒ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｐｏｒｔ               ｏｆ               Ｏｓｔｅｎｄ               ｉｎ               Ｂｅｌｇｉｕｍ.
               Ｔｈｅｙ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｆｒｏｍ               ａｎｏｔｈｅｒ               ｄｉｖｉｓｉｏｎ               ａｌｔｏｇｅｔｈｅｒ,               ｂａｓｅｄ               ｆａｒ               ａｗａｙ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｔｈｅ               ｄｅｃａｄｅｎｔ               ｆｌｅｓｈｐｏｔｓ               ｏｆ               Ｌｏｎｄｏｎ,               ｗｈｅｒｅ               ａ               ｓｉｍｐｌｅｒ,               ｈａｒｄｅｒ               ｗａｙ               ｏｆ               ｌｉｆｅ               ｐｒｅｖａｉｌｅｄ,               ａｎｄ               ｗｈｅｎ               ｓｏｍｅ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅｍ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｇａｔｈｅｒｉｎｇ               ｏｎｅ               ｅｖｅ               ｉｎ               ａｎ               Ｏｓｔｅｎｄ               ｓｔｒｅｅｔ               ｆｏｒ               ａ               ｓｃｒａｐｗｉｔｈ               ｓｏｍｅ               ｌｏｃａｌｓ               ｗｈｏ               ｈａｄ               ｏｆｆｅｎｄｅｄ               ｔｈｅｍ,               Ｄａｍｏｎ               ａｎｄ               Ｄａｖｉｄ               ｍａｄｅ               ｉｔ               ｃｌｅａｒ               ｔｈｅｙ               ｈａｄ               ｎｏ               ｉｎｔｅｎｔｉｏｎ               ｏｆ               ｊｏｉｎｉｎｇ               ｉｎ.
               Ｔｈｉｓ               ｐｒｏｍｐｔｅｄ               ｏｎｅ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅｉｒ               ｎｕｍｂｅｒ,               ａ               ｗａｉｆｌｉｋｅ               ｌｉｔｔｌｅ               ｓａｉｌｏｒ               ｏｆ               ａｂｏｕｔ               16               ｏｒ               17               ｔｏ               ｔｕｒｎ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅｍ               ｗｉｔｈ               ａ               ｌｏｏｋ               ｏｆ               ｕｔｔｅｒ               ｂｅｗｉｌｄｅｒｍｅｎｔ               ｏｎ               ｈｉｓ               ｂｅａｒｄｌｅｓｓ               ｆａｃｅ               ａｎｄ               ａｓｋ,               "Ｗｈａｔ'ｓ               ｗｒｏｎｇ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｙｏｕｓｅ               ｇｕｙｓ?",               ｂｅｆｏｒｅ               ｊｏｉｎｉｎｇ               ｈｉｓ               ｍａｔｅｓ               ｆｏｒ               ｔｈｅ               ｉｍｐｅｎｄｉｎｇ               ｒｉｏｔ.
               Ｄａｍｏｎ               ｊｕｓｔ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｓｅｅ               ｔｈｅ               ｐｏｉｎｔ               ｏｆ               ｆｉｇｈｔｉｎｇ               ｆｏｒ               ｔｈｅ               ｓａｋｅ               ｏｆ               ｉｔ               ｂｕｔ               ｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ｆａｒ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｂｅｉｎｇ               ａ               ｃｏｗａｒｄｌｙ               ｆｏｐ.

Ｔｈｉｓ               ｓｅｃｒｅｔ               ｉｎｎｅｒ               ｆｏｒｔｉｔｕｄｅ               ｗｏｕｌｄ               ｅｖｅｎｔｕａｌｌｙ               ｓｅｅ               ｈｉｍ               ｂｅｉｎｇ               ｃｏｍｍｉｓｓｉｏｎｅｄ               ａｓ               ａｎ               ｏｆｆｉｃｅｒ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               Ｒｏｙａｌ               Ｎａｖｙ,               ｗｈｉｃｈ               ｈａｄ               ｂｅｅｎ               ｈｉｓ               ｄｅｓｔｉｎｙ               ａｌｌ               ａｌｏｎｇ;               ｂｕｔ               ｎｏｔ               Ｄａｖｉｄ'ｓ.

Ｈｉｓ               ｔｉｍｅ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｔｈｅ               Ｌｏｎｄｏｎ               Ｄｉｖｉｓｉｏｎ,               ＲＮＲ               ｃａｍｅ               ｔｏ               ａｎ               ｅｎｄ               ｉｎ               ｌａｔｅ               1977               ｗｉｔｈ               ａ               ｓｕｒｐｒｉｓｉｎｇｌｙ               ｐｏｓｉｔｉｖｅ               ｃｈａｒａｃｔｅｒ               ｒｅｐｏｒｔ.

Ｉｆ               ｍｉｌｉｔａｒｙ               ｌｉｆｅ               ｈａｄ               ｎｅｖｅｒ               ｂｅｅｎ               ｆｏｒ               ｈｉｍ,               ｉｔ               ｂｅｃａｍｅ               ａｎ               ｉｍｐｏｒｔａｎｔ               ｐａｒｔ               ｏｆ               ｈｉｓ               ｉｄｅｎｔｉｔｙ               ｎｏｎｅｔｈｅｌｅｓｓ.
               Ｅｖｅｎ               ｌａｔｅｒ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｕｍｍｅｒ,               ｈｅ               ｊｏｉｎｅｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｆｏｒｍｅｒ               Ｍｅｒｃｈａｎｔ               Ｎａｖｙ               Ｃｏｌｌｅｇｅ               ｉｎ               Ｇｒｅｅｎｈｉｔｈｅ,               Ｋｅｎｔ,               ａｓ               ａ               ｔｒａｉｎｅｅ               Ｒａｄｉｏ               Ｏｆｆｉｃｅｒ.
               Ｈｅ               ｆｏｒｍｅｄ               ｓｅｖｅｒａｌ               ｃｌｏｓｅ               ｆｒｉｅｎｄｓｈｉｐｓ               ｔｈｅｒｅ;               ｂｕｔ               ｃｌｏｓｅｓｔ               ｏｆ               ａｌｌ               ｗａｓ               ｗｉｔｈ               Ｊａｙａｎｔ,               ａ               ｌｏｖａｂｌｅ               ｈａｒｄ               ｎｕｔ               ｗｉｔｈ               ａ               ｔｈｉｃｋ               Ｌｏｎｄｏｎ               ａｃｃｅｎｔ               ｗｈｏ'ｄ               ｂｅｅｎ               ｂｏｒｎ               ｉｎｔｏ               ｎｅａｒｂｙ               Ｇｒａｖｅｓｅｎｄ'ｓ               ｌａｒｇｅ               Ａｓｉａｎ               ｃｏｍｍｕｎｉｔｙ,               ａｎｄ               ｗｈｏ               ｗａｓ               ｌｏｙａｌ               ａｎｄ               ｋｉｎｄ-ｈｅａｒｔｅｄ               ｔｏｗａｒｄｓ               ｔｈｏｓｅ               ｈｅ               ｌｉｋｅｄ               ａｎｄ               ｔｒｕｓｔｅｄ,               ａｎｄ               ｆｏｒ               ａ               ｔｉｍｅ,               Ｄａｖｉｄ               ａｎｄ               ｈｅ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｐｒｅｔｔｙ               ｗｅｌｌ               ｉｎｓｅｐａｒａｂｌｅ.
               Ｄａｖｉｄ               ｕｓｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｅｎｄｌｅｓｓｌｙ               ｎａｇ               ａｂｏｕｔ               ｈｉｓ               ａｔｔｉｔｕｄｅ,               ｎｏｔ               ｔｈａｔ               ｔｈｅｒｅ               ｗａｓ               ａｎｙｔｈｉｎｇ               ｗｒｏｎｇ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｉｔ,               ｂｕｔ               ｈｅ               ｈａｄ               ａ               ｈａｂｉｔ               ｏｆ               ｔａｌｋｉｎｇ               ｔｏｕｇｈ,               ｗｈｉｃｈ               Ｄａｖｉｄ               ｆｏｕｎｄ               ｕｎｓｅｔｔｌｉｎｇ,               ａｌｔｈｏｕｇｈ               Ｊａｙ               ｗａｓ               ａｓ               ｇｏｏｄ               ａ               ｆｒｉｅｎｄ               ｔｏ               ｈｉｍ               ａｓ               ｈｅ               ｃｏｕｌｄ               ｐｏｓｓｉｂｌｙ               ｈｏｐｅ               ｆｏｒ.

Ａｓ               ｔｈｉｎｇｓ               ｔｕｒｎｅｄ               ｏｕｔ,               ｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ｔｈｅ               ｏｎｅ               ｗｈｏ               ｑｕｉｔ               ｃｏｌｌｅｇｅ               ｆｉｒｓｔ,               ｅｖｅｎ               ｉｆ               Ｊａｙ               ｄｉｄ               ｆｏｌｌｏｗ               ｈｉｍ               ｓｏｏｎ               ａｆｔｅｒｗａｒｄｓ,               ｗｈｉｃｈ               ｃａｕｓｅｄ               ｈｉｍ               ｔｏ               ｗｏｎｄｅｒ               ｗｈｙ               Ｄａｖｉｄ               ｈａｄ               ｔａｋｅｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｍｏｒａｌ               ｈｉｇｈ               ｇｒｏｕｎｄ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｆｉｒｓｔ               ｐｌａｃｅ.
               Ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｔｈｒｏｕｇｈ               Ｊａｙ               ｔｈａｔ               Ｄａｖｉｄ               ｓｔａｒｔｅｄ               ｇｏｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ｄｉｓｃｏｓ               ａｔ               ｔｈｅ               Ｗｏｏｄｖｉｌｌｅ               Ｈａｌｌ               ｉｎ               ｈｉｓ               ｈｏｍｅ               ｔｏｗｎ               ｏｆ               Ｇｒａｖｅｓｅｎｄ,               ｗｈｅｒｅ,               ｐｒｅｔｔｙ               ｗｅｌｌ               ｅｖｅｒｙ               ｗｅｅｋ               ｆｏｒ               ａ               ｗｈｉｌｅ,               ａ               ｇａｎｇ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｔｈｅ               ｃｏｌｌｅｇｅ               ｗｏｕｌｄ               ｔａｋｅ               ｔｈｅ               ｔｒａｉｎ,               ａｎｄ               ｗｈｅｒｅ               ｔｈｅｙ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｔｒｅａｔｅｄ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｖｉｓｉｔｉｎｇ               ｒｏｙａｌｔｙ               ｂｙ               ｔｈｅ               -               ｍａｉｎｌｙ               ｗｈｉｔｅ               ａｎｄ               Ａｓｉａｎ               -               ｋｉｄｓ,               ｗｈｏｓｅ               ｏｕｔｌａｎｄｉｓｈ               ｏｕｔｆｉｔｓ               ｓｔｏｏｄ               ｏｕｔ               ｉｎ               ｓｕｃｈ               ｓｔｒｉｋｉｎｇ               ｃｏｎｔｒａｓｔ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｉｎｄｕｓｔｒｉａｌ               ｂｌｅａｋｎｅｓｓ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅｉｒ               ｓｕｒｒｏｕｎｄｉｎｇｓ.
               Ｔｈｅｒｅ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｇｉｒｌ               ｉｎ               ｃｈａｎｄｅｌｉｅｒ               ｅａｒｒｉｎｇｓ,               ｗｅａｒｉｎｇ               ｅｖｅｎｉｎｇ               ｄｒｅｓｓｅｓ               ａｎｄ               ｓｔｉｌｅｔｔｏ               ｈｅｅｌｓ,               ｗｈｉｃｈ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｉｎ               ｓｔａｒｋ               ｃｏｎｔｒａｓｔ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｂｉｚａｒｒｅ               ｈａｉｒ               ｃｏｌｏｕｒｓ               ｔｈｅｙ               ｆａｖｏｕｒｅｄ,               ｓｕｃｈ               ａｓ               ｊｅｔ               ｂｌａｃｋ               ｏｒ               ｂｌｅａｃｈ               ｂｌｏｎｄｅ,               ｗｉｔｈ               ｆｌａｓｈｅｓ               ｏｆ               ｒｅｄ,               ｐｕｒｐｌｅ               ｏｒ               ｇｒｅｅｎ.

Ｓｏｍｅ               ｗｏｒｅ               ｂｏｗ               ｔｉｅｓ,               ｗｈｉｌｅ               ｏｔｈｅｒｓ               ｕｎｃｅｒｅｍｏｎｉｏｕｓｌｙ               ｈａｎｇｅｄ               ｔｈｅｉｒ               ｓｃｈｏｏｌ               ｃｏｌｏｕｒｓ               ａｒｏｕｎｄ               ｔｈｅｉｒ               ｎｅｃｋｓ.

Ｔｈｅ               ｂｏｙｓ               ａｌｌ               ｈａｄ               ｓｈｏｒｔ               ｈａｉｒ,               ｗｏｒｅ               ｔｈｉｎ               ｔｉｅｓ,               ｍｏｈａｉｒ               ｓｗｅａｔｅｒｓ,               ｔｈｉｎ               ｔｉｅｓ,               ｂａｇｇｙ,               ｗｅｌｌ-ｐｒｅｓｓｅｄ               ｐｅｇ-ｔｏｐ               ｔｒｏｕｓｅｒｓ               ｏｆ               ｒｅｄ               ｏｒ               ｂｌｕｅ,               ａｎｄ               ｗｉｎｋｌｅｐｉｃｋｅｒ               ｓｈｏｅｓ.
               Ｅｎｇｌｉｓｈ               ｓｕｂｕｒｂａｎ               ｌｉｆｅ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｏｓｅ               ｄａｙｓ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｉｎｃｌｕｄｅ               ｍｏｂｉｌｅ               ｐｈｏｎｅｓ               ｏｒ               ＤＶＤ               ｐｌａｙｅｒｓ,               ｐｅｒｓｏｎａｌ               ｃｏｍｐｕｔｅｒｓ               ｏｒ               ｔｈｅ               ｗｏｒｌｄ               ｗｉｄｅ               ｗｅｂ,               ｓｏ               ｗａｓ               ａ               ｆｅｒｔｉｌｅ               ｂｒｅｅｄｉｎｇ               ｇｒｏｕｎｄ               ｆｏｒ               ｗｉｌｄ               ａｎｄ               ｅｃｃｅｎｔｒｉｃ               ｙｏｕｔｈ               ｃｕｌｔｓ               ｓｕｃｈ               ａｓ               Ｐｕｎｋ,               ｗｈｏｓｅ               ｉｎｆｌｕｅｎｃｅ               ｐｅｒｖａｄｅｄ               ｔｈｅ               Ｈａｌｌ               ｔｏｇｅｔｈｅｒ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｔｈｅ               Ｓｏｕｌ               Ｂｏｙ               ｌｏｏｋ,               ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅ               Ｓｏｕｌｉｅｓ               ｏｆ               Ｗｏｏｄｖｉｌｌｅ               Ｈａｌｌ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｊｕｓｔ               ｏｒｄｉｎａｒｙ               ｗｏｒｋｉｎｇ               ｃｌａｓｓ               ｋｉｄｓ               ｗｈｏ               ｔｕｒｎｅｄ               ｉｎｔｏ               ｓｕｐｅｒｓｔａｒｓ               ｏｎｃｅ               ｔｈｅｙ               ｔｏｏｋ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｆｌｏｏｒ               ｔｏ               Ｄｏｎｎａ               Ｓｕｍｍｅｒ               ｔｏ               ｐｉｒｏｕｅｔｔｅ               ａｎｄ               ｐｏｓｅ               ａｓ               ｉｆ               ｔｈｅｉｒ               ｌｉｖｅｓ               ｄｅｐｅｎｄｅｄ               ｏｎ               ｉｔ.
               Ｄａｖｉｄ               ｅｎｊｏｙｅｄ               ｈｉｓ               ｔｉｍｅ               ａｔ               Ｍｅｒｃｈａｎｔ               Ｎａｖｙ               Ｃｏｌｌｅｇｅ               ａｎｄ               ｍａｄｅ               ｓｅｖｅｒａｌ               ｇｏｏｄ               ｆｒｉｅｎｄｓ,               ｂｕｔ               ｈａｄ               ｔｏ               ｒｅａｌｉｓｅ               ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｎｏｔ               ｆｏｒ               ｈｉｍ,               ａｎｄ               ｓｏｏｎ               ａｆｔｅｒ               ｒｅｔｕｒｎｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               Ｌｏｎｄｏｎ,               ｈｅ               ａｕｄｉｔｉｏｎｅｄ               ｆｏｒ               ａ               ｐｌａｃｅ               ｏｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｔｈｒｅｅ               ｙｅａｒ               ｄｒａｍａ               ｃｏｕｒｓｅ               ａｔ               ｔｈｅ               Ｇｕｉｌｄｈａｌｌ               Ｓｃｈｏｏｌ               ｏｆ               Ｍｕｓｉｃ               ａｎｄ               Ｄｒａｍａ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               Ｃｉｔｙ               ｏｆ               Ｌｏｎｄｏｎ,               ｗｈｉｃｈ               ｗａｓ               ｒｅａｌｌｙ               ｗｈａｔ               ｈｅ'ｄ               ｗａｎｔｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｄｏ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｆｉｒｓｔ               ｐｌａｃｅ.
               Ｉｎｃｒｅｄｉｂｌｙ,               ａｓ               ｈｅ'ｄ               ａｌｒｅａｄｙ               ｆａｉｌｅｄ               ｔｗｏ               ｅａｒｌｉｅｒ               ａｕｄｉｔｉｏｎｓ               ｆｏｒ               ＲＡＤＡ,               Ｇｕｉｌｄｈａｌｌ               ａｃｃｅｐｔｅｄ               ｈｉｍ               ｆｏｒ               ｔｈｅ               ｃｏｕｒｓｅ               ｂｅｇｉｎｎｉｎｇ               ｉｎ               ａｕｔｕｍｎ               1978.

Ｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ｅｘｈｉｌａｒａｔｅｄ;               ｂｕｔ               ｔｈａｔ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｓｔｏｐ               ｈｉｍ               ｓｉｎｋｉｎｇ               ｆｕｒｔｈｅｒ               ｉｎｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｎｉｈｉｌｉｓｔｉｃ               Ｐｕｎｋ               ｌｉｆｅｓｔｙｌｅ.
               Ｈａｖｉｎｇ               ｂｅｅｎ               ｂｌｏｗｎ               ａｗａｙ               ｂｙ               ｔｈｅ               ｈａｉｒｓｔｙｌｅ               ｏｆ               ｏｎｅ               ｏｆ               ａ               ｓｍａｌｌ               ｇａｎｇ               ｏｆ               Ｐｕｎｋｓ               ｈｅ               ｋｎｅｗ               ｂｙ               ｓｉｇｈｔ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｎｉｇｈｔｓ               ｏｕｔ               ｉｎ               Ｄａｒｔｆｏｒｄ,               ｈｅ               ｄｅｃｉｄｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｉｍｉｔａｔｅ               ｉｔ               ａ               ｆｅｗ               ｗｅｅｋｓ               ｌａｔｅｒ.

Ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｓｐｉｋｅｄ               ｉｎ               ｃｌａｓｓｉｃ               Ｐｕｎｋ               ｓｔｙｌｅ,               ｗｉｔｈ               ａ               ｋｉｎｄ               ｏｆ               ａ               ｈａｌｏ               ｏｆ               ｂｒｉｇｈｔ               ｂｌｏｎｄ               ｔａｋｉｎｇ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｆｒｏｎｔ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｈｅａｄ,               ｂｏｔｈ               ｓｉｄｅｓ,               ａｎｄ               ａ               ｓｔｒｉｐ               ａｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｎａｐｅ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｎｅｃｋ.

Ｈｏｗｅｖｅｒ               ｂｙ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｐｒｉｎｇ               ｏｆ               '78               ｈｅ'ｄ               ｈａｄ               ｉｔ               ｓｈｏｒｎ               ｉｎｔｏ               ａ               ｆｕｌｌ-ｂｌｏｗｎ               ｓｋｉｎｈｅａｄ.
               Ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｇｅｎｕｉｎｅｌｙ               ｄａｎｇｅｒｏｕｓ               ｂｅｉｎｇ               ａ               Ｐｕｎｋ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｌａｔｅ               '70ｓ,               ａｎｄ               ｙｏｕ               ｌｉｖｅｄ               ｉｎ               ｃｏｎｓｔａｎｔ               ｆｅａｒ               ｏｆ               ａｔｔａｃｋ               ｏｒ               ａｂｕｓｅ               ｉｆ               ｙｏｕ               ｃｈｏｓｅ               ｔｏ               ｄｒｅｓｓ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｏｎｅ.

Ａｆｔｅｒ               ａｌｌ,               Ｐｕｎｋ'ｓ               ｃｕｌｔｕｒｅ               ｏｆ               ｉｎｓｏｌｅｎｃｅ               ａｎｄ               ｏｕｔｒａｇｅ               ｗａｓ               ｅｘｔｒｅｍｅ               ｅｖｅｎ               ｂｙ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｔａｎｄａｒｄｓ               ｏｆ               ｐｒｅｖｉｏｕｓ               Ｂｒｉｔｉｓｈ               ｙｏｕｔｈ               ｃｕｌｔｓ               ｓｕｃｈ               ａｓ               ｔｈｅ               Ｔｅｄｓ,               ｔｈｅ               Ｒｏｃｋｅｒｓ,               ｔｈｅ               Ｍｏｄｓ,               ｔｈｅ               Ｇｒｅａｓｅｒｓ,               ｔｈｅ               Ｓｋｉｎｓ,               ｔｈｅ               Ｓｕｅｄｅｈｅａｄｓ               ａｎｄ               ｔｈｅ               Ｓｍｏｏｔｈｉｅｓ.
               Ｂｒｉｔａｉｎ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｏｓｅ               ｄａｙｓ               ｗａｓ               ａ               ｃｏｕｎｔｒｙ               ｓｔｉｌｌ               ｄｏｍｉｎａｔｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｓｏｍｅ               ｄｅｇｒｅｅ               ｂｙ               ｐｒｅ-ｗａｒ               ｍｏｒａｌ               ｖａｌｕｅｓ,               ｗｈｉｃｈ               ｗｅｒｅ               Ｖｉｃｔｏｒｉａｎ               ｉｎ               ｅｓｓｅｎｃｅ,               ａｎｄ               ａ               ｃｕｌｔｕｒａｌ               ｗａｒ               ｗａｓ               ｂｅｉｎｇ               ｆｏｕｇｈｔ               ｆｏｒ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｏｕｌ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｎａｔｉｏｎ.

Ｉｔ               ｃｏｕｌｄ               ｂｅ               ｓａｉｄ               ｔｈｅｒｅｆｏｒｅ               ｔｈａｔ               Ｐｕｎｋｓ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｔｈｅ               ａｖａｎｔ-ｇａｒｄｅ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｎｅｗ               Ｂｒｉｔａｉｎ               ｉｎ               ａ               ｗａｙ               ｔｈａｔ               ｗｏｕｌｄ               ｂｅ               ｉｍｐｏｓｓｉｂｌｅ               ｔｏｄａｙ.

Ｔｈｉｓ               ｅｘｐｌａｉｎｓ               ｔｈｅ               ｉｎｃｒｅｄｉｂｌｅ               ｈｏｓｔｉｌｉｔｙ               Ｐｕｎｋｓ               ａｔｔｒａｃｔｅｄ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｓｏｍｅ               ｍｅｍｂｅｒｓ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｇｅｎｅｒａｌ               ｐｕｂｌｉｃ.
               Ｃｌｏｓｅ               ｂｙ               ｔｏ               ｗｈｅｒｅ               Ｄａｖｉｄ               ｓｈａｒｅｄ               ａ               ｈｏｕｓｅ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｈｉｓ               ｐａｒｅｎｔｓ               ｉｎ               Ｗｅｓｔ               Ｍｏｌｅｓｅｙ,,               ｈｅ               ｓａｗ               Ｈｅｒｓｈａｍ               Ｐｕｎｋ               ｂａｎｄ               Ｓｈａｍ               '69               ｉｎ               ａ               ｈａｌｌ               ａｂｏｖｅ               ｔｈｅ               Ｓｕｒｖｅｙｏｒ               ｐｕｂ               ａｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｈｅａｒｔ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               Ｍｏｌｅｓｅｙ               Ｉｎｄｕｓｔｒｉａｌ               Ｅｓｔａｔｅ               ｓｈｏｒｔｌｙ               ｂｅｆｏｒｅ               ｔｈｅｙ               ｂｅｃａｍｅ               ｎａｔｉｏｎａｌｌｙ               ｆａｍｏｕｓ
               Ｈｅ               ａｌｒｅａｄｙ               ｋｎｅｗ               ｔｈｅｉｒ               ｌｅａｄ               ｓｉｎｇｅｒ,               Ｊｉｍｍｙ               Ｐｕｒｓｅｙ,               ｂｙ               ｓｉｇｈｔ,               ｈａｖｉｎｇ               ｓｅｅｎ               ｈｉｍ               ｍｉｍｅ               ｔｏ               Ｃｈｒｉｓ               Ｓｐｅｄｄｉｎｇ'ｓ               "Ｍｏｔｏｒｂｉｋｉｎｇ"               ｏｎｅ               ｎｉｇｈｔ               ｉｎ               ａｂｏｕｔ               '76               ａｔ               ｔｈｅ               Ｗａｌｔｏｎ               Ｈｏｐ,               ａｔ               ｌｅａｓｔ               ｈｅ               ｔｈｏｕｇｈｔ               ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｈｉｍ...
               Ｄａｖｉｄ               ｗａｓ               ｏｆｔｅｎ               ｔｏ               ｂｅ               ｆｏｕｎｄ               ａｔ               ｔｈｅ               Ｓｕｒｖｅｙｏｒ               ｏｎ               ａ               Ｓｕｎｄａｙ               ｎｉｇｈｔ               ｗｉｔｈ               Ｄａｎｅ,               ａｎｄ               ｍｕｔｕａｌ               ｆｒｉｅｎｄｓ.

Ｏｎ               ｏｎｅ               ｏｃｃａｓｉｏｎ,               ｔｈｅ               ｕｓｕａｌ               Ｄｉｓｃｏ               ｏｒ               Ｐｏｐ               ｇａｖｅ               ｗａｙ               ｔｏ               ａ               ｖｉｏｌｅｎｔ               Ｐｕｎｋ               Ｒｏｃｋ               ａｎｔｈｅｍ               ｗｈｉｃｈ               ｓａｗ               ｔｈｅ               ｔｉｎｙ               ｄａｎｃｅ               ｓｐａｃｅ               ｂｅｉｎｇ               ｉｎｖａｄｅｄ               ｂｙ               ｄｅｒａｎｇｅｄ               ｐｏｇｏ-ｄａｎｃｅｒｓ               ａｓ               ｉｆ               ｔｈｅｙ'ｄ               ｂｅｅｎ               ｓｕｍｍｏｎｅｄ               ｂｙ               ｓｏｍｅ               ｍａｌｉｇｎａｎｔ               ｄｅｉｔｙ.

Ｏｎ               ａｎｏｔｈｅｒ,               ａ               Ｔｅｄ               ｒｅｖｉｖａｌｉｓｔ               ｗｈｏ               ｆａｖｏｕｒｅｄ               ｆｌａｓｈｙ               ｆｉｆｔｉｅｓ-ｓｔｙｌｅ               ｃｌｏｔｈｉｎｇ,               ｔｒｉｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｓｔａｒｔ               ｓｏｍｅ               ｔｒｏｕｂｌｅ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｈｉｍ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｔｏｉｌｅｔ.

Ａｔ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｐｏｉｎｔ,               Ｆｒａｎｋｉｅ,               ａｎｏｔｈｅｒ               Ｔｅｄ               ｗｈｏ'ｄ               ｂｅｆｒｉｅｎｄｅｄ               ｈｉｍ               ａｂｏｕｔ               ａ               ｙｅａｒ               ｐｒｅｖｉｏｕｓｌｙ               ｗｈｅｎ               ｈｅ               ｌｏｏｋｅｄ               ｌｉｋｅ               ａｎ               ｅｘｔｒａ               ｆｒｏｍ               ａ               '50ｓ               Ｈｉｇｈ               Ｓｃｈｏｏｌ               ｆｌｉｃｋ               ｓｔｅｐｐｅｄ               ｉｎ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｔｈｅ               ｍａｇｉｃａｌ               ｗｏｒｄｓ:               "Ｈｅ'ｓ               ａ               ｍａｔｅ!"
               Ｆｒａｎｋｉｅ'ｓ               ｉｎｔｅｒｖｅｎｔｉｏｎ               ｍａｙ               ｈａｖｅ               ｓａｖｅｄ               ｈｉｍ               ｆｒｏｍ               ａ               ｈｉｄｉｎｇ               ｔｈａｔ               ｎｉｇｈｔ,               ｂｅｃａｕｓｅ               Ｔｅｄｓ               ｈａｄ               ａ               ｌｏａｔｈｉｎｇ               ｏｆ               Ｐｕｎｋｓ               ｉｎｆｏｒｍｅｄ               ｂｙ               ｔｈｅｉｒ               ｅｓｓｅｎｔｉａｌ               ｃｏｎｓｅｒｖａｔｉｓｍ.

Ｔｏ               ｔｈｅｍ,               Ｐｕｎｋｓ               ｐｒｏｂａｂｌｙ               ｓｅｅｍｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｈａｖｅ               ｎｏ               ｒｅｓｐｅｃｔ               ｆｏｒ               ａｎｙｔｈｉｎｇ.
               Ｏｎ               ａｎｏｔｈｅｒ               ｏｃｃａｓｉｏｎ,               Ｆｒａｎｋｉｅ               ｔｈｅ               Ｔｅｄ               ａｌｍｏｓｔ               ｉｍｐｌｏｒｉｎｇｌｙ               ａｓｋｅｄ               ｈｉｍ               ｗｈｅｔｈｅｒ               ｈｅ               ｉｎｔｏ               "ｔｈｉｓ               Ｐｕｎｋ               ｌａｒｋ",               ａｓ               ｈｅ               ｔｅｒｍｅｄ               ｉｔ               ｉｎ               ｃｏｎｔｅｍｐｔ,               ａｎｄ               Ｄａｖｉｄ               ａｓｓｕｒｅｄ               ｈｉｍ               ｈｅ               ｗａｓｎ'ｔ.

Ｈｅ               ｍａｙ               ｅｖｅｎ               ｈａｖｅ               ａｄｄｅｄ               ｔｈａｔ               ｈｅ               ｓｔｉｌｌ               ｌｏｖｅｄ               ｔｈｅ               ｆｉｆｔｉｅｓ,               ｗｈｉｃｈ               ｗａｓ               ｔｈｅ               ｔｒｕｔｈ               ｔｏ               ａｎ               ｅｘｔｅｎｔ;               ｂｕｔ               ｔｈａｔ               ｗａｓｎ'ｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｐｏｉｎｔ.

Ｔｈｅ               ｆａｃｔ               ｉｓ               ｈｅ               ｌｉｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｈｉｍ               ｔｏ               ｌｏｏｋ               ｇｏｏｄ               ｉｎ               ｈｉｓ               ｅｙｅｓ,               ｗｈｉｃｈ               ｗａｓ               ａ               ｐｒｅｔｔｙ               ｌｏｗ               ｔｈｉｎｇ               ｔｏ               ｄｏ               ｔｏ               ａ               ｆｒｉｅｎｄ.
               Ｏｎ               Ｎｅｗ               Ｙｅａｒｓ               Ｅｖｅ,               Ｊａｙ               ａｎｄ               ｈｅ               ｗｅｎｔ               ｔｏ               ａ               ｐａｒｔｙ               ｉｎ               Ｌｏｎｄｏｎ'ｓ               ｓｗａｎｋｙ               Ｗｅｓｔ               Ｅｎｄ.

Ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｔｈｅ               ｌａｓｔ               ｉｎ               ａ               ｌｏｎｇ               ｓｅｒｉｅｓ               ｏｆ               ｃｅｌｅｂｒａｔｉｏｎｓ               ｈｅ'ｄ               ｇｏｎｅ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｒｏｕｇｈｏｕｔ               '77               ｍａｉｎｌｙ               ａｓ               ａ               ｒｅｓｕｌｔ               ｏｆ               ｆｒｉｅｎｄｓ               ｆｒｏｍ               Ｐａｎｇｂｏｕｒｎｅ               ｒｅａｃｈｉｎｇ               ｔｈｅ               ｌａｎｄｍａｒｋ               ａｇｅ               ｏｆ               21.

Ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ａｌｓｏ               ｏｎｅ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｌａｓｔ               ｔｉｍｅｓ               ｈｅ               ｅｖｅｒ               ｓａｗ               Ｊａｙ.
               Ｂｅｆｏｒｅ               ａｒｒｉｖｉｎｇ,               Ｊａｙ               ａｎｄ               ｈｅ               ｍｅｔ               ｕｐ               ａｓ               ａｒｒａｎｇｅｄ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｆｕｔｕｒｅ               ｏｉｌ               ｍａｇｎａｔｅ               Ｃｈｒｉｓ,               ａｎｄ               ａｓ               ｓｏｏｎ               ａｓ               ｔｈｅ               ｉｎｔｒｏｄｕｃｔｉｏｎｓ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｏｖｅｒ,               Ｊａｙ               ｓａｗ               ｆｉｔ               ｔｏ               ｏｆｆｅｒ               ａ               ｔｒｕｌｙ               ｔｅｒｒｉｆｙｉｎｇ               ｓｏｌｏ               ｄｉｓｐｌａｙ               ｏｆ               ｈｉｓ               ｌｅｔｈａｌ               ｓｔｒｅｅｔ               ｆｉｇｈｔｉｎｇ               ｓｋｉｌｌｓ:
               "Ｉ'ｍ               ｓｕｉｔａｂｌｙ               ｉｍｐｒｅｓｓｅｄ",               ｓａｉｄ               Ｃｈｒｉｓ...ａｎｄ               ｈｅ               ｗａｓ,               ａｌｔｈｏｕｇｈ               ｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ｎｏ               ｗｉｍｐ               ｈｉｍｓｅｌｆ;               ｂｕｔ               Ｊａｙ               ｗａｓ               ｓｏｍｅｔｈｉｎｇ               ｅｌｓｅ,               ａｎｄ               ｆｅｗ               ｗｏｕｌｄ               ｈａｖｅ               ｂｅｎｅｆｉｔｅｄ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｃｒｏｓｓｉｎｇ               ｈｉｍ...ｂｕｔ               ｔｈｅｙ               ｇｏｔ               ｏｎ               ｌｉｋｅ               ａ               ｈｏｕｓｅ               ｏｎ               ｆｉｒｅ               ｔｈａｔ               ｉｎｓａｎｅ               ｎｉｇｈｔ               ｗｈｉｃｈ               ａｔ               ｏｎｅ               ｐｏｉｎｔ               ｓａｗ               Ｄａｖｉｄ               ｐｏｕｒｉｎｇ               ａ               ｆｕｌｌ               ｇｌａｓｓ               ｏｆ               ｂｅｅｒ               ｏｖｅｒ               ｈｉｓ               ｈｅａｄ.

Ｗｈａｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｂｅａｕｔｉｆｕｌ               ｄａｎｃｅｒ               ｈｅ'ｄ               ｓｐｅｎｔ               ｍｏｓｔ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｅｖｅｎｉｎｇ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｔｈｏｕｇｈｔ               ｏｆ               ａ               ｎｉｃｅ               ｇｕｙ               ｌｉｋｅ               Ｄａｖｉｄ               ｄｏｉｎｇ               ａ               ｔｈｉｎｇ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｔｈａｔ               ｓｈｅ               ｄｉｄｎ'ｔ               ｓａｙ.
               Ｉｎ               ｔｈｏｓｅ               ｄａｙｓ,               Ｄａｖｉｄ               ｋｎｅｗ               ｓｏ               ｍａｎｙ               ｐｅｏｐｌｅ               ｗｈｏ'ｄ               ｈａｖｅ               ｄｏｎｅ               ａｎｙｔｈｉｎｇ               ｆｏｒ               ｈｉｍ               ｇｉｖｅｎ               ｈａｌｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｃｈａｎｃｅ,               ａｎｄ               ｙｅｔ               ｈｉｓ               ｏｎｅ               ｔｒｕｅ               ｐａｓｓｉｏｎ               ａｐｐｅａｒｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｂｅ               ｔｈｅ               ｃｒｅａｔｉｏｎ               ｏｆ               ｅｎｄｌｅｓｓ               ｄｒｕｎｋｅｎ               ｓｃｅｎｅｓ,               ａｎｄ               ａ               ｐａｒｔｙ               ｗａｓｎ'ｔ               ａ               ｐａｒｔｙ               ｆｏｒ               ｈｉｍ               ｕｎｌｅｓｓ               ｈｅ'ｄ               ｃａｕｓｅｄ               ｏｎｅ,               ａｆｔｅｒ               ｗｈｉｃｈ               ｈｅ               ｓｉｍｐｌｙ               ｍｏｖｅｄ               ｏｎ.
               Ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｐｒｉｎｇ               ｏｆ               '78               ｔｈａｔ               ｈｅ               ｍｏｖｅｄ               ｏｎ               ａｇａｉｎ...ｔｈｉｓ               ｔｉｍｅ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｃｉｔｙ               ｏｆ               Ｆｕｅｎｇｉｒｏｌａ               ｏｎ               Ｓｐａｉｎ'ｓ               Ｃｏｓｔａ               ｄｅｌ               Ｓｏｌ,               ｗｉｔｈ               ｔｈｅ               ｉｎｔｅｎｔｉｏｎ               ｏｆ               ｈｅｌｐｉｎｇ               ｓｅｔ               ｕｐ               ａ               ｓａｉｌｉｎｇ               ｓｃｈｏｏｌ               ｗｉｔｈ               Ａｄａｍ,               ａ               ｙｏｕｎｇ               Ｅｎｇｌｉｓｈｍａｎ               ｗｈｏｍ               ｈｉｓ               ｆａｔｈｅｒ               ｈａｄ               ｒｅｃｅｎｔｌｙ               ｂｅｆｒｉｅｎｄｅｄ               ｉｎ               Ｌｏｎｄｏｎ;               ｂｕｔ               ｄｅｓｐｉｔｅ               ｈａｖｉｎｇ               ｂｅｅｎ               ｐｒｅ-ａｒｒａｎｇｅｄ               ｂｅｔｗｅｅｎ               ｔｈｅｍ,               ｔｈｅ               ｐｒｏｊｅｃｔ               ｃａｍｅ               ｔｏ               ｎｏｔｈｉｎｇ.
               Ｈｏｗｅｖｅｒ,               Ｄａｖｉｄ               ｓｔａｙｅｄ               ｏｎ,               ｌｉｖｉｎｇ               ｆｉｒｓｔ               ｉｎ               ａｎ               ａｐａｒｔｍｅｎｔ               Ａｄａｍ               ｈａｄ               ｋｉｎｄｌｙ               ｓｅｔ               ｈｉｍ               ｕｐ               ｉｎ,               ｔｈｅｎ               ｉｎ               ａ               ｌｉｔｔｌｅ               ｈｏｔｅｌ               ｉｎ               ｔｏｗｎ,               ａｎｄ               ｆｉｎａｌｌｙ,               ｒｅｎｔ-ｆｒｅｅ,               ｗｉｔｈ               ａｎ               Ａｍｅｒｉｃａｎ               ｆｒｉｅｎｄ,               Ｓｃａｒｌｅｔｔ,               ｏｎｅ               ｏｆ               ａ               ｈａｎｄｆｕｌ               ｏｆ               ＵＳ               ｅｘ-ｐａｔｓ               ｌｉｖｉｎｇ               ｉｎ               Ｆｕｅｎｇｉｒｏｌａ               ａｌｏｎｇｓｉｄｅ               ｙｏｕｎｇ               ｐｅｏｐｌｅ               ｆｒｏｍ               Ａｕｓｔｒａｌｉａ,               Ｂｒｉｔａｉｎ,               Ｉｒｅｌａｎｄ,               Ｇｅｒｍａｎｙ,               Ｓｏｕｔｈ               Ａｍｅｒｉｃａ               ａｎｄ               ｏｔｈｅｒ               ｐａｒｔｓ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｗｏｒｌｄ.
               Ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ａ               ｈｅｄｏｎｉｓｔｉｃ               ｓｃｅｎｅ,               ａｎｄ               Ｄａｖｉｄ               ｗａｓｔｅｄ               ｌｉｔｔｌｅ               ｔｉｍｅ               ｉｎ               ｂｅｃｏｍｉｎｇ               ｐａｒｔ               ｏｆ               ｉｔ.

Ｈｅ               ｓｐｅｎｔ               ｈｉｓ               ｎｉｇｈｔｓ               ａｔ               ｔｈｅ               Ｔａｍ               Ｔａｍ               ｎｉｇｈｔ               ｃｌｕｂ,               ｗｈｅｒｅ               ｈｅ               ｓｅｔ               ａｂｏｕｔ               ｅｓｔａｂｌｉｓｈｉｎｇ               ｈｉｍｓｅｌｆ               ａｓ               Ｆｕｅｎｇｉｒｏｌａ'ｓ               ｖｅｒｙ               ｏｗｎ               Ｔｏｎｙ               Ｍａｎｅｒｏ...ｉｎ               Ｐｕｎｋ               Ｒｏｃｋ               ａｔｔｉｒｅ.
               Ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｈｉｓ               ｆｉｒｓｔ               ｙｅａｒ               ａｓ               ａ               ｆｕｌｌ-ｔｉｍｅ               Ｐｕｎｋ,               ｉｎ               ｐｏｉｎｔ               ｏｆ               ｆａｃｔ,               ａｎｄ               ａｍｏｎｇ               ｔｈｅ               ｃｌｏｔｈｅｓ               ｈｅ               ｆａｖｏｕｒｅｄ               ｗｅｒｅ               ａ               ｂｌａｃｋ               ｃａｐ-ｓｌｅｅｖｅｄ               ｗｅｔ-ｌｏｏｋ               ｔｅｅ-ｓｈｉｒｔ,               ｄｒａｉｎｐｉｐｅ               ｊｅａｎｓ               ｏｆ               ｂｌａｃｋ               ｏｒ               ｇｒｅｅｎ,               ｗｏｒｎ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｂｌａｃｋ               ｓｔｕｄｄｅｄ               ｂｅｌｔ,               ｆｅｓｔｏｏｎｅｄ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｓｉｌｖｅｒ               ｃｈａｉｎ               ｆｉｌｃｈｅｄ               ｆｒｏｍ               ａ               Ｓｐａｎｉｓｈ               ｒｅｓｔｒｏｏｍ,               ａｎｄ               ｋｅｐｔ               ｉｎ               ｐｌａｃｅ               ｂｙ               ｍｕｌｔｉｐｌｅ               ｓａｆｅｔｙ               ｐｉｎｓ,               ｆｌｕｏｒｅｓｃｅｎｔ               ｐｉｎｋ               ｔｅｄｄｙ               ｂｏｙ               ｓｏｃｋｓ,               ａｎｄ               ｗｈｉｔｅ               ｓｈｏｅｓ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｂｌａｃｋ               ｌａｃｅｓ               ｌｉｋｅ               ｔｈｅ               ｏｎｅｓ               ｈｅ'ｄ               ｓｅｅｎ               ｏｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｃｏｖｅｒ               ｏｆ               ａｎ               ａｌｂｕｍ               ｂｙ               Ｌｏｎｄｏｎ               Ｐｕｎｋ               ｂａｎｄ               999.

Ａｔ               ｏｎｅ               ｓｔａｇｅ,               ｈｅ               ｅｖｅｎ               ｗｏｒｅ               ａ               ｓａｆｅｔｙ               ｐｉｎ               -               ｄｉｓｉｎｆｅｃｔｅｄ               ｂｙ               ｂｅｉｎｇ               ｄｉｐｐｅｄ               ｉｎｔｏ               ａ               ｄｒｉｎｋ               -               ｉｎ               ｈｉｓ               ｌｅｆｔ               ｅａｒｌｏｂｅ,               ｂｕｔ               ｈｅ               ｒｅｍｏｖｅｄ               ｔｈｉｓ               ｏｎｃｅ               ｈｉｓ               ｌｕｇ               ｈａｄ               ｓｔａｒｔｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｐｕｌｓａｔｅ.
               Ａｆｔｅｒ               ａ               ｆｅｗ               ｗｅｅｋｓ,               ｈｅ               ｂｅｃａｍｅ               ｌｅａｄ               ｓｉｎｇｅｒ               ｆｏｒ               ｔｈｅ               Ｔａｍ               Ｔａｍ               ｈｏｕｓｅ               ｂａｎｄ,               ａｎｄ               ｗｏｕｌｄ               ｔｙｐｉｃａｌｌｙ               ｗｅａｒ               ｓｏ               ｍｕｃｈ               ｍａｋｅ-ｕｐ               ｏｎｓｔａｇｅ               ｔｈａｔ               ｏｎｅ               ｏｃｃａｓｉｏｎ,               ｔｈｅ               ｍｉｃｒｏｐｈｏｎｅ               ｂｅｃａｍｅ               ｓｍｅａｒｅｄ               ｉｎ               ｌｉｐｓｔｉｃｋ,               ｂｕｔ               ｔｈｅ               ｐａｔｒｏｎｓ               ｌｉｋｅｄ               ｈｉｍ,               ａｎｄ               ｈｅ'ｄ               ｐｏｓｅ               ａｎｄ               ｐｏｕｔ               ａｎｄ               ｔｈｒｏｗ               ｈｉｓ               ｓｐａｒｅ               ｆｒａｍｅ               ａｂｏｕｔ               ｆｏｒ               ｔｈｅｉｒ               ｂｅｎｅｆｉｔ.
               Ｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ａｌｗａｙｓ               ｓｈｏｒｔ               ｏｆ               ｍｏｎｅｙ,               ｂｕｔ               ｃｏｕｌｄ               ｏｒｄｅｒ               ａｎｙｔｈｉｎｇ               ｈｅ               ｗａｎｔｅｄ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｔｈｅ               Ｔａｍ               Ｔａｍ               ｂａｒ,               ａｎｄ               ｗｈｅｎ               ｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ｆｌａｔ               ｂｒｏｋｅ,               ｈｉｓ               ｃｌｏｓｅ               ｆｒｉｅｎｄ               Ｌａｕｒａ               ｂｏｕｇｈｔ               ｈｉｍ               ｔｏａｓｔｅｄ               ｃｈｅｅｓｅ               ｓａｎｄｗｉｃｈｅｓ               ｔｏ               ｋｅｅｐ               ｈｉｍ               ｇｏｉｎｇ.
               Ｌａｕｒａ               ａｎｄ               ｈｅ               ｓｐｅｎｔ               ｖｅｒｙ               ｌｉｔｔｌｅ               ｔｉｍｅ               ｏｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｂｅａｃｈ,               ｂｕｔ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｏｆｔｅｎ               ｔｏ               ｂｅ               ｆｏｕｎｄ               ａｔ               Ｌｅｗ               Ｈｏａｄ'ｓ               ｆａｍｏｕｓ               Ｃａｍｐｏ               ｄｅ               Ｔｅｎｉｓ,               ｔｈａｔ               ｉｓ,               ｗｈｅｎ               Ｄａｖｉｄ               ｗａｓｎ'ｔ               ｒｅｈｅａｒｓｉｎｇ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｔｈｅ               ｂａｎｄ,               ａｎｄ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｅｖｅｎｉｎｇ,               ｈｅ               ｗａｓ               ｏｆｔｅｎ               ｔｏ               ｂｅ               ｆｏｕｎｄ               ａｔ               Ｌａｕｒａ'ｓ               ｐａｒｅｎｔｓ'               ｈｏｕｓｅ,               ｐｕｔｔｉｎｇ               ｏｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｌａｐ,               ａｎｄ               ｐｅｒｈａｐｓ               ｅｖｅｎ               ｐａｉｎｔｉｎｇ               ｈｉｓ               ｎａｉｌｓ               ａ               ｇａｕｄｙ               ｓｈａｄｅ               ｏｆ               ｒｅｄ,               ｂｅｆｏｒｅ               ｈｅａｄｉｎｇ               ａｌｏｎｇ               ｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               Ｔａｍ               Ｔａｍ               ｔｏ               ｄｏ               ｈｉｓ               ｇｉｇ.

Ｏｎｅ               ｎｉｇｈｔ               ｈｅｒ               ｄａｄ,               ａ               ｃｈａｒｉｓｍａｓｔｉｃ               ｆｏｒｍｅｒ               ｔｅｎｎｉｓ               ｐｒｏ,               ｗａｓ               ａｗａｋｅｎｅｄ               ｂｙ               ｔｈｅｉｒ               ａｎｔｉｃｓ,               ａｎｄ               ａｎｇｒｉｌｙ               ｏｒｄｅｒｅｄ               ｔｈｅｍ               ｏｕｔ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               ｈｏｕｓｅ:
               "Ｗｈａｔ               ｉｓ               ｔｈｉｓ               ****,               Ｌａｕｒａ?"               ｈｅ               ｉｎｃｒｅｄｕｌｏｕｓｌｙ               ｅｎｑｕｉｒｅｄ,               ａｎｄ               ｗｉｔｈ               ｇｏｏｄ               ｒｅａｓｏｎ,               ａｓ               ｈｅ'ｄ               ｂｅｅｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｓｏｕｌ               ｏｆ               ｐａｔｉｅｎｃｅ               ｆｏｒ               ｗｅｅｋｓ.
               Ｈｏｗｅｖｅｒ,               ｓｏｍｅ               ｎｉｇｈｔｓ               ｔｈｅｙ               ｐｒｅｆｅｒｒｅｄ               ｔｏ               ｇｅｔ               ａｗａｙ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｉｔ               ａｌｌ               ｔｏ               ａｎｏｔｈｅｒ               ｐａｒｔ               ｏｆ               ｔｏｗｎ,               ａｎｄ               ｆｏｒ               Ｄａｖｉｄ,               ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｓｕｃｈ               ａ               ｔｈｒｉｌｌ               ｔｏ               ｂｅ               ａｌｏｎｅ               ｗｉｔｈ               Ｌａｕｒａ               ｉｎ               ｔｈｅ               ｄｅｍｉ-ｌｉｇｈｔ               ｏｆ               ｔｈｅ               Ｄｉｓｃｏ,               ｗｈｉｌｅ               ｔｈｅ               ｅｖｅｎｉｎｇ               ｗａｓ               ｓｔｉｌｌ               ｙｏｕｎｇ,               ｈｏｐｅｌｅｓｓｌｙ               ｕｎａｗａｒｅ               ｔｈａｔ               ｓｕｃｈ               ｍｏｍｅｎｔｓ               ａｒｅ               ｒａｒｅ               ｅｖｅｎ               ｉｎ               ｙｏｕｔｈ,               ａｎｄ               ｇｅｔ               ｓｔｅａｄｉｌｙ               ｒａｒｅｒ               ａｓ               ｌｉｆｅ               ｆｏｒｇｅｓ               ｏｎ.

Ｏｎ               ｏｎｅ               ｏｃｃａｓｉｏｎ               ａｓ               ｔｈｅｙ               ｗｅｒｅ               ｓｔｒｏｌｌｉｎｇ               ｔｈｒｏｕｇｈ               ｔｏｗｎ               ｂｙ               ｎｉｇｈｔ,               ｔｈｅ               ｌｅｇｅｎｄ               ｔｈａｔ               ｗａｓ               ｒａｃｉｎｇ               ｃｈａｍｐｉｏｎ               Ｊａｍｅｓ               Ｈｕｎｔ               ｃａｌｌｅｄ               ｏｕｔ               Ｌａｕｒａ'ｓ               ｎａｍｅ               ｂｅｆｏｒｅ               ｅｍｅｒｇｉｎｇ               ｆｒｏｍ               ｔｈｅ               ｄａｒｋｎｅｓｓ.

Ｔｈｅｙ               ｅｘｃｈａｎｇｅｄ               ａ               ｆｅｗ               ｗｏｒｄｓ               ｂｅｆｏｒｅ               Ｈｕｎｔ               ｖａｎｉｓｈｅｄ               ｂａｃｋ               ｉｎｔｏ               ｔｈｅ               ｎｉｇｈｔ               ａｓ               ｓｕｄｄｅｎｌｙ               ａｓ               ｈｅ'ｄ               ａｒｒｉｖｅｄ.

Ｄａｖｉｄ               ｃｏｕｌｄ               ｓｃａｒｃｅｌｙ               ｂｅｌｉｅｖｅ               ｈｉｓ               ｅｙｅｓ,               ｂｕｔ               ｉｔ               ｗａｓ               ｔｈａｔ               ｉｎｃｒｅｄｉｂｌｅ               ａ               ｓｕｍｍｅｒ.

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About 'edward waters college'|...from left over petroleum, and tooth paste and ice water, I still know enough to recall that all ...Batman forever. I saw the grand parody, Blake Edwards never so perfect again, with an almost...

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