<br >T<br > he last time I saw you， you were wearing your red<br >T-shirt， blue denim panl，~， comfortable soft shoes and<br >your contagious smile. You stepped into the station<br >wagon with a fellow who was rapidly becoming one of<br >your good friends. You were on your way to see his<br >sister who had a typical teenager s crush on you. You<br >were going places， and your friend allowed you to drive<br >that wagon!<br > I didn t like that a bit; after all， you didn t have a<br >license yet. But your friend assured me that you drove<br >very well， and you were so proud turning down the<br >street， showing me that you could handle the big car.<br > That was the last time I saw you. Little did we both<br >dream that that very night your short but beautiful life<br >would be stopped by a bullet fired by a very sick man.<br > You couldn t have known that the man who bran-<br >dished a gun in front of youy all evening long was unable<br >to part with it. Without that gun he felt like nothing<br >With it he was a bi~ shot. That weapon was his only power <br >and authority， but how could you know he<br ><br >
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