tales from an ordinary world

2002-11-24

Weepy clouds linger over my footsteps toward the station, through the old streets that I rode my bike around, twenty years ago. The houses seem bleaker now, though - there's not a soul around, no sounds of happiness, as if that's become a more private pursuit, something you no longer share with the neighbours. There's probably a greater chance of making a friend halfway across the world than there is of making one next door. The lure of the tropics, the lure of the west, the lure of the snow, the lure of the heights. Everybody wants to be somewhere else these days.

A handful of suburbs later, the cafe waitress asks about my portable music machine. "I've got a minidisc player. I wonder if they'll ever sell printed ones," she asks ? "You missed the boat," I tell her. "They've been and gone."