This old Simon and Garfunkel song popped into my mind. Maybe it hassomething to do with the fact I've spent the past few hours working on a sitethat represents something I used to spend a lot more time with. Evenwrote a couple of books about the product. And, ironically, as much asI try and move on from it, I'm still dealing with it on some level. Ohwell, at least the pay is good.
Old friends, old friends, Sat on their parkbench like bookends A newspaper blown through the grass Falls on the round toes of the high shoes of the old friends Old friends, winter companions, the old men Lost in their overcoats, waiting for the sunset The sounds of the city sifting through trees Settle like dust on the shoulders of the old friends. Can you imagine us years from today, Sharing a parkbench quietly How terribly strange to be seventy Old friends, memory brushes the same years, Silently sharing the same fears Time it was and what a time it wasit wasA time of innocencea time of confidences.Long ago it must beI have a photographpreserve your memoriesthey're all that's left you.