Moment(um) 5

It is now.

Or as near to now as could possibly matter.

I am on my way back from the CVS down the street from my apartment, a bag of last minute groceries in hand. I am in Dallas and the night is mild and the avenues are wide and hostile to pedestrian life.

I remember the runs I would make like this to the Giant grocery around the corner from my apartment in Binghamton, when having a place of my own, answering to myself, was still novel. When being able to go and grab rolls or soda or an order of fried dumplings whenever I wanted was still a thrill.

But that was nine years and four cites ago. That block is almost a thousand miles away and the Giant chain of groceries doesn't even exist anymore. No more TV jingle, "See you at the Gi-ant!"

All that gone, and here I am with the groceries again.