Being Honest With Fiction

I am somewhere now, too far gone from a loaded package, which is where I used to be. I am far from this and further from yesterday, but I do recall.I remember.I used to know all too well about tiny envelopes that were packaged with printed names and filled with a beautiful high. I remember how life seemed to fade like the old graffitied trains that disappeared down the subway tunnels in the mid to late memories from my youth in the 80’s.The City was my playground but the monkey bars and the jungle gyms were not the same. Neither were the slides and the see-saws or the rides we took. 42nd Street was way different from how it is nowBut – Nothing is like it was and nothing will ever be the way it was. And who is to say whether this is good or bad?At the same time, nothing really changes. At least, nothing changes as much as we think.The events and the issues and the core of us as people are still the same.Everyone is looking for “the way.”I know.We all want to “feel good.”We all want…