I was a founding member of the board of trustees that ran his estate and had free run of the estate. I know all the back halls and places even the tour guides didn’t know. When things were hopping here, I snuck girls in through the secret passages back in the day. I found him in part of the house where he could come and go without being seen.
Sitting down the fifth cup of coffee, I turned on my chair and leaned back. How, you may ask did I know it was him and not some impostor?
It’s simple. I knew him back in Tupelo. Yeah, I’m that old. I’m one of the only ones left from back in the early days. It was him. He knew me and called me by my name, and we swapped stories about the old days.
What, you ask? Why didn’t I take a picture? I sipped on my coffee and thought for a minute.
There was a simple answer. Hell, the fact is, I didn’t think of it, and now I’m glad I didn’t. The world doesn’t need another picture of him—especially this version of him. He’s forever young and handsome in the world’s eyes, not old and bent, and barely able to walk. All he wants is to be alone.
Yeah, Elvis is alive. Let’s let him rest in peace.