Saturday, June 01, 2002
Another time, another place.
Isn't it surprising how little it takes to evoke a memory.
I've just left work, standing at the bus stop under the feint glow of a couple of street lights. The fallen leaves scratch at the pavement as a light breeze pushes them around. The breeze is crisp, and the cold bites into my face and hands. I close my eyes.
I'm 18 again. It's Sunday. I've spent the day at the Metro Arts centre with the other fanatics at 11:21 and now it's getting cold and dark as I wait for the bus home on Adelaide St next to City Hall. I've watched the believer and the skeptic blurred on the wall, I've gotten a sore back from the uncomfortable chairs. I get caught up in the story, but when the lights come back on it worries me that I thought I was bad, but here I'm only a moderate.
I open my eyes and I'm back again, the same jacket is keeping me warm here and now just as it did when the thought of running around chasing bad guys seemed like a valid career choice, before I followed that educational path, based career choices on that fantasy, and moved here.
Where will I be and what will I be doing when these memories come back again? Who can say; the only certainty is that it will be another place and another time.
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