But sometimes sleeping in the open
I think back when I had you.
No point in trying to convey what it's like to meet again, for half an hour, the people who filled my mind to the exclusion of almost everything else twelve or thirteen years ago. Twelve or thirteen years: that ought to be prehistory, and of course in a way it is. Reading Papuwa now is a side view into another life, something that happened so long ago I've almost forgotten it- The One I Was. Like childhood in its way. Here is young Magic, and here are the twins, and here is Luzar (and here is an A/U Servis called Rai which is another bit of time-travel, to Channel 5 in the late 90's. Eight years. Time is truly the train there's no getting off.) Reading them I see, out the corner of my eye, the summer sun on the cabbage fields of Heiwadai and the scattered two storey haitsu that lined the roads between them and the occasional old wooden house (shack, we'd call it) with its back yard and little garden plot and the bats bobbing in the green evening cool as I bicycle over to the liquor store (well, the liquor 7-11) on Kanpachi; the liquor store I believe was down the road from my residence on the unnnamed main drag that ran past the station.
I found a journal I kept briefly early in '97, after some of the shock of return had faded; repeated constantly is the line, It was real; it happened. Hard to believe in the reality of Over Here, so inimical to the reality of Over There that the two truly can't exist in the same head. But it was real, it happened; and sometimes it was wonderful. The happy highways where I went, and ocasionally still find myself walking down again.