When this young woman came in that I guessed to be a university student, yet she dressed with class. A tight white sweater, short skirt that showed of... her long tanned shapely legs (my weakness.) I looked her over as she stood in line and she looked me over where I sat with a mischievous smile on her full lips. Then I looked at the way she moved her hips as she sauntered to a table close at hand. Her? Our? Story in poetical prose of rhythmic stanzas that will curl a girl’s toes. No rings she. Could Itell anyone I wasn't this girl? Who would believe me? And even if by somemiracle someone believed me, what could they do? I somehow doubt anybodyknows how to do a soul transplant.For that matter, I wasn't sure where my real body was. If my soul was inher body, was she in mine? Or is my body in the morgue?I decided I was going to have to try and calm down. I tried to rememberwhat happened before the accident. It came in flashes - I was drivingalong, then I saw someone?I stop, there is a. More

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