tales from an ordinary world

2000-11-11a

The problem with going back and searching out old places, old memories, is that it's never quite the same. There was this nice old café I frequented back when I lived in a single bedroom flat, all by myself. My time was my own and maybe, to someone or other, I was something of a familiar sight wandering a few adjacent suburbs on the weekends. I wandered down that way in search of breakfast, lunch, something. The café moved to a bigger location a while back, and I've yet to go there often enough that it feels like home, the way the old location did. I practiced resistance by walking into shops full of consumer electronics and not buying anything. I walked, passing the shop above which I nearly rented a flat a few years back. I trammed, and stared out the window a lot much like I used to, watching the world pass me by. Eventually, I worked out that the familiar face waiting for the tram with me used to live in the flat below me, but it was too late to say hello. Besides, it's a bit much to expect to be remembered.