It’s so easy being back here in the place that formed me. my place of origination. the source of the majority of things from which I have sprung. nearly lost but re-found friends will ask me what I am doing here. And I think, that’s such a strange strange question. Why are they not asking what I am doing there? that’s the real mystery. At least to me.
Elsewhere, people smile at me on the streets. They all look familiar, but I’m not sure how or why. I guess I am the one who must look familiar. I am surprised I am even recognizable to anyone anymore. Who are these people? I think they like my glasses. I am just the mannequin for my glasses. There are worst things to be.
Even this guy whizzing by on his bicycle along the lakefront looks at me quizzically. I wonder if that was the guy who smashed into me one July morn’ 10 years ago. It can’t be him, can it? Why would it be? I can’t think of a single reason. Other than to induce a palpitation or 2.
But one thing I can say for sure, it will be hard to leave again. Hard to go back there. I can barely stomach it.