The other day, i think it was yesterday, i overheard the well-dressed old man at the mall near my place tell his dining neighbour whilst pointing to his foot i think, that that was scraped by a bullet,… i believe that’s what i heard.
I walked by, almost missing what he had said. His face filled with history. Of pride.
I wonder where that began.
I had wondered for the longest time, where this trench-coated smart-lookin’ bald man was from. He had stories.
It caught my attention, did it matter? And what does?
Watching Across the universe, beautiful film, strawberries, beatles, and nostalgic crooning, creativity spilled from frame to frame, era to era, time to time, across the universe.
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