Arriving at the address Marcy had given him, he found the house to be one of the older ones in town; however this grand old house was not falling into decay. It had been well cared for over the years, and when Marcy invited him in, he saw that it had been remodeled and thoroughly modernized. The name on the mailbox intrigued him: it was one of the oldest and respected names in Redfern. A Lunceford had been one of the founding fathers of the city, and the Lunceford name figured prominently in cultural and political, as well as business aspects of the community.

"You a Lunceford…?" he asked.

"Yeah… like old Isaac Lunceford was my great grandpa…" she said, flippantly, "but don't let it get to you! I don't! All that silly old crap turns me off!"

Don knew that his family had come to Redfern not long after its founding. He remembered that they had lived in such a house as this, further out on the edge of town in the orange groves. Somehow, his father had lost the house and the grove, and the family had had to move into town to take up residence in the shacky house in which they now lived. He was too young to know and understand all of the reasons. There was a bankruptcy. They were evicted. His father couldn't seem to hold a job. He was drunk most of the time, anyway. Don's mother had been supporting them for several years. It was all a big mess, for try as he might, he couldn't warm up to his father, give him the respect a son should give a father. Christ! The old drunk!

"What kind of wheels you got, Don?"

"My bike…" he answered. "Why?"

"I thought you might have a groovy car we could ride in."

"Sorry…"

"Well, you know… like if a guy wants to make it with a chick, he's got to have a car!" she explained.

"Yeah… Well…"

"Houses are too risky! We got to stay here… and my folks could come home… and well, you know, there'd be a big crunch… but in a car… Man! It's groovy… nothing but privacy… if it's fixed up right…"