Later, Jackie would die in a car accident. Much later. First he would be a collegiate athlete. Win all sorts of awards, shine all sorts of hearts up with the polish he held in his pores, make love to all sorts of people – professors, students, his garbage man, the woman in front of him in the grocery store, his bosses – not in the carnal sense, but the old fashioned one, you know, how in the olden days they could manufacture love out of thin air and spread it all around, all over the place, and tie it to a string and carry it behind them and sell it for absolutely nothing. Well, that’s what Jackie did. And when the accident came, he was thirty-three, like Jesus.
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