I forget the quieter moments-- the simple evenings at home reading yesterday's newspapers (because nothing comes to us on time) and counting the distance between lightning and thunder-- one second, two, three, four miles away. The storm is four miles away, so there's enough time to run the garbage out before the rain really starts coming down, so would you please? It was easier then to understand our place in the complexity of the world.
We were people who lived quiet lives, a whisper in the middle of too much noise. We laughed then! We agreed it was better to be happy, as we were happy-- to ignore the world at large and concentrate on the finer things in life. You made those vermillion drinks. They were goregeous; I miss them. But now my head is pounding as I shift lanes, weaving in and out of traffic, navigating patterns that call back to the path of the needle in and out when you knitted scarves. Everything reminds me of those days.
Right now my mind should be racing but it moves slowly, wading through viscous waters of better memories, before I came here... this city is the epitome of the kind of misery that brings memories to the mind before the present things, and makes nostalgia a more tangible thing than it was before. I swerve quickly, nearly hitting a pedestrian, but still I can't come back to the present moment. I need a drink. A beautiful, vermillion one.
-Ron Adams (formerly theshadowcaste)