Last week I visited one of my old neighborhoods in Washington D. C. I hadn’t been there for twenty years and as I walked along the street, my mind was flooded by memories of the past. I saw the old apartment building where I had lived and the playground where I had played. As I viewed these once familiar surroundings, images of myself as a child there came to mind. However, what I saw and what I remembered were not the same. I sadly realized that the best memories are those left untouched.
My old apartment building, as I remember, was bright and alive. It was more than just a place to live. It was a movie house, a space station, or whatever my young mind could imagine. I would steal away with my friends and play in the basement. This was always exciting because it was so cool and dark, and there were so many things there to hide among. There was a small river in the back of the building. We would go there to lie in the shade of trees and enjoy ourselves.
How
A. he had lived in Washington D. C. for twenty years
B. he was very imaginative as a child
C. he had had fond memories of his old neighborhood
D. he had come from a very poor neighborhood
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