Bruised and broken by his twenty mile trek, recovered by his romance fans, given a hero’s funeral.
I was there, seated front and center. I never caught a glimpse of Marylou but I did spy several suspicious characters, women shrouded and lurking at the fringe but no one recognized her, if she was there.
He would have blushed to hear the effusions poured like balm over his beaten corpse, buried like the patron saint of love, though from what I know, all his experiences with love were short lived and tragic. Really, Tim was an expert on theoretical love.