His head whipped around to the sound of his name. He'd not been able to part with it. Ever. It was who he was through and through. Besides he'd grown rather found of it. So had the rest of the world. Between 24 and 50 babies were named Wolfgang each year, particularly in 1996 when nearly 100 children had inherited it.
He admitted not knowing the girl who looked at him with such delight and admiration. She was a pretty little thing. He greeted her with a slapstick grin on his face. "I don't!" he said taking her hands and holding her arms out, turning her face around in his memory bank expecting to have it bounce out, but it never did. "But I'd like to remember." Wolfgang had always been a fan of the pretty girls. Especially singers. They were kind of a weakness.