This feeling again of living in memories. Of no way am I still here. This is a story I'm telling. No, still here. Have said nothing. Am making up how to frame this later. You wouldn't believe the time I had there. Except the old buildings I pass every day. The dog outside the liquor-and-cigarette shop nobody ever pets. Or if they do, it's only the people waiting for the bus. The repetition. The summing up already of the past few years into how to talk about them later. Now. I can't believe I'm still here.