Hop-on, hop-off

I think of that day every time I ride the LRT and remember those conversations when I walk through a station. I notice what would probably be only a blur if we hadn’t taken that time to be curious, if each piece was not now invested with the memory of the voices of friends.


As a kid, I had a close friend whose family moved away and suddenly one day he was just gone. For some reason, the memory of losing him has always been tied up with this other one...

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