Remembering
The hometown of the past is known for its broken clocks and the trains of thought that get crowded quickly at rush hour, where half the passengers forget where they’re going before they get there and memory misses most of its stops. There is music but it only plays when something important is about to happen, or has just happened, but never when it is happening, and the familiar hush is made from the debris of moments that will be broken down and played over and over, on many a sleepless night. The weather is nice, except for storms, and the occasional evening when the moon looks beautiful and no one is there. People change their appearance depending on the light and whomever they are speaking to, and they use big words, words that hurt, or heal, or cause earthquakes; very rarely do they make small talk unless they’re falling in love.