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Lo, we have become the machines of our machines and the cast of our own memories. You know you’re getting old when you look forward to the past. A past revealed like an onion being peeled back. The tears can sneak up on you. Friends long remembered, pop in at the stroke of a finger. So inversely wonderful to have more friends from high school than I had in high school. People seem so much more resilient than my memory. I suppose friends concentrate over time while my recollection is ever more dilute. So many un-friended faces still swim through my turbid mind. Echoes and Ghosts, Echoes and Ghosts...