the dead man’s name was lucas jackson.
he had not always been a derelict whose physical presence his fellow humans found unpleasing.
he was born in a little town in a mountainous area where it rained a lot and the sun did not shine so much.
his mother was the town tramp. his father was a railroad man.
lucas’s mother’s name was lily mae. she sincerely wanted to be a good mom but the hours required by the profession which fate had thrust upon her often made this difficult.
on days when lily mae was able to get up before four in the afternoon, and it was sunny outside or at least not raining too hard, she would put little lucas in a little stroller which had belonged to her own mother and in which lily mae herself had ridden as a child, and roll him up and down the streets, but not down the main street where she plied her ancient trade in the evening.
sometimes, when lily mae’s mind was wandering a little bit, and she was thinking of long ago happy days or of happy days which had only existed in her imagination or in her dreams, she would inadvertently venture with her stroller up thr hilll and into the streets on which were located the houses of respectable citizens.
the occupants of these streets were not happy when lily mae did this. one day lily mae was pushing little lucas in his stroller past a colossal sloping green lawn fronting the one hundred room mansion that had belonged to the morris family - the richest family in town - for hundreds of years, when she was halted in her tracks by mrs roberta wilkinson, who was the third richest woman in town, the second most respectable, and the mother of the mayor.
mrs wilkinson was alone, unaccompanied by any of her servants, toadies, or fellow town matriarchs. before addressing lily mae she looked around to make sure that they were alone and that her words would not be overheard.
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