The Summer of Billy the Kid
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I met, or rather heard, Billy at exactly 12:07 AM June 1st, 1975. "Arriba, Arriba! Andale! Hubba Hubba!!!" The yelling was followed by a rapid succession of vocal "pow, pow, pows". I ran to my open window and saw him. There he was, hanging upside down from a limb of the oak tree in the back yard by the alley: a skinny, little, red-headed kid wearing cowboy and Indian print pajama bottoms and a dirty white T-shirt. The light of the streetlamp was shining on his cap guns and holster buckle. Unfortunately, he saw me, too. "Hey, there! Out of ammo! Got any caps? My name's Billy. What's yours?" It ...
I met, or rather heard, Billy at exactly 12:07 AM June 1st, 1975. "Arriba, Arriba! Andale! Hubba Hubba!!!" The yelling was followed by a rapid succession of vocal "pow, pow, pows". I ran to my open window and saw him. There he was, hanging upside down from a limb of the oak tree in the back yard by the alley: a skinny, little, red-headed kid wearing cowboy and Indian print pajama bottoms and a dirty white T-shirt. The light of the streetlamp was shining on his cap guns and holster buckle. Unfortunately, he saw me, too. "Hey, there! Out of ammo! Got any caps? My name's Billy. What's yours?" It was the last summer before high school and Danny's final chance to be a kid before having to assume the required role of "Mature Young Male Adult." Having a goofy little kid like Billy hanging around was not his idea of a last "hoorah". But, the summer of Billy the Kid would change his views of just about everything.
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