There is a street that runs just at the bottom of the hill. I watch the cars go past, coming from seemingly nowhere and going the same way. The atmosphere is somehow yellow, although it is not stormy. I know where I am, but I do not feel it.
I recognize the curve of the street, the house at the bottom of the hill, and the trees on the opposite side of the street. Yet somehow, I could swear I was looking at my childhood. Not quite reliving a memory. This feels more like time travel, as if I was using some unknown capacity to access my childhood street. The moment lingers sweetly, unobtrusive but distinct.
I look around the room at the people sharing this space with me. Everything feels like the past. This sensation happens frequently. It sort of feels like I have faded out and am not really there. Time and space have collapsed on each other, blending things that should be separate. I am simultaneously in the present and the past and realize that I have no idea when or where this body sits, but it seems obvious that I am not where I need to be.
