three
89, 90, 91. The thing stays with me as both obsession of the innocent age and reflection on it: that something corrupt was right under the surface - youth was always spoiled youth and is loaded with guilt. There is a murder back there somewhere and you are pretending that the black lodge was somewhere outside you, or something alien.
Glamour and lustre of it. The lipsticks, the complexions, tartan skirts in shadow of a doubt hometown. Whatever you long for is wrong, and was wrong then.