Do you remember days of yellow skirts and bare feet? I saw Murray the other day and he reminded me of it. I had forgotten, but when he told those stories of his, I had a sudden flood of nostalgic cinamemory. That is what I have decided to call moments when I remember things very strongly in a visual way and they play, uncontrollably, like a montage sequence in a film. Or perhaps like a Eisensteinian montage in this case. Like I said, I had forgotten about those days completely. They were the best of my life, of course. But what came shortly after between us is why I chose to block them out. Murray told me you had moved to Australia to live for three years shortly after I left. He said after you were gone, the remaining crew from the old neighbourhood knew it was the end of a golden era for Ridgemonton. He also said that most of the old crew still lived there; that they were mostly the washed out, unemployable bums we always knew they would become. He told me it was embarrassing to go into detail about any of their lives. I felt embarrassed for having disappeared when I did. They all looked up to me and I abandoned everyone when things started to fall apart. Truth was I just could not deal with anyone or anything after us. I was suffocating in my own self-pity. And then Murray told me that he and you hooked up after you got back from Australia, and you were still together.