I am amused at how little of my own past I remember as things that happened to me. I recall them as something I watched... maybe a movie that I watched in a dingy AC-less, bat-smelling cinema hall with a whiny speaker.
It does lend a certain objectivity to see my life with. It is not MY life... it is that guy in the screen's.
Time whizzes by and I, I write of glimpses I steal
