Memory is a funny thing.
When I was in the scene I hardly paid it any attention.
I never stopped to think of it as something that would make a lasting impression, certainly never imagined that 18 years later I would recall it in such detail.
I didn’t give a damn about the scenery that day.
I was thinking about myself.
I was thinking about the two of us together, and then about myself again.
I was at that age, that time of life when every sight, every feeling, every thought came back, like a boomerang, to me.
And worse, I was in love.
Love with complications.
Scenery was the last thing on my mind.