a summer evening.  & i am 14.  we just pulled in to the drive in theater.  the sun is still shining.  i am filled with hormones.  the movie we are set to see is terrible.  but i love the drive in & convinced my family there is no better flick to see.  & there is a girl two rows up.  about 18.  with a friend & another boy about my age.  standing outside her beat up blue chevy camaro smoking a cigarette.  shapely.  & wearing blue corduroy shorts.  the 1970s haven't ended yet.  the dayglo blast of '80s MTV quick edits are about a year or two away.  she is an imago of my memories.  how fashion changed decades so quickly.  how quickly the decades move away.  like buying a book at tower books then placing it on the shelf.  the next time you reach for that book 15 years have passed.  tower books is long gone away.  you wonder how the years can move so fast.  that girl i remember is an older woman now.  perhaps a grandmother.  she has/had her own life.  she is another human being who might also wonder over this fast & strange passing of time.  each day is like a lifetime, each year becomes the past, each decade turns over another & another like the blades of a till turning over the farrows of the field.  upon the discovery that one lifetime is like every other.  full & empty & long & short.  like a summer evening, sometimes it is enough.