I wouldn’t have wanted to think of it, had I any hope of experiencing it again in the real world. Without such hope, all I had was the memory. I know to avoid living in the past; in this case, however, even a hazy and abstract semblance was better than any present reality. Laying in bed at night I played it over like a movie on the back my eyelids, each time it became more distorted. Still, there was nothing out in the city that could be any better for me. Until now, I’ve finally forgotten enough, so that my memory is not even of the actual occurrence, but more so of my longing for it. Only recently have some present realities presented themselves as superior alternatives.