It’s the little things… Like one minute I’m walking past Five and I catch a whiff of someone smoking a Clove. The next minute I’m standing in a corner of the SERP house talking to Laura-Lee and Scotty while Stroud’s mix vibrates the floor. Or I’m sitting in Starbucks and hear a sound—I don’t even know what it was, but suddenly I have the most vivid image of a street in Florence. I was standing there on my cell phone calling the Misches to ask Ann if she wanted me to send here a new Bisccotti jar because the shop before me had one just like hers. I’ve always had little flash bulb memories but lately everything is taking me somewhere else. The escalator at Dupont Station suddenly turned into the escalator at Kings Cross-St. Pancress. I think I’m going crazy…
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