A stretch of sidewalk beside several food trucks at a farmers market in a small urban park with palm trees and tents in the distance

Coming back to one of the old neighborhoods is no longer a nostalgic exercise. It’s more abstract, and oddly more sensitive to other nuances. This is what the People Who Live Here Now are like; I don’t think I was like them even when I was still here. They’re not so different from me, except for the obvious ways. They’re committed to the bit. While visiting, I asked how I was, if I ever was. I think maybe I found a new bit, or a different stage, or both. Still me, though?

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