The morning images blurrily resembled the night before—reminders of who we were, vague & hazy & lazy, as the drunken subjects under the flash never sat still enough to see it coming.
There also was an image of tomorrow, but that was blurry too—a string of daydream fantasies that looked more like PlayStation graphics: creative, but clearly not real, not really.
There were sounds… our noisy escape from the dark floors inside, where college kids danced under strobe lights and dreamt aloud about tomorrow.
But the noise was outside us, we could still hear ourselves. Not like now, how everything blares inside the A.D.D. head. No deserted library or soundproof room or magical forest can quiet the screams within.
Yesterday’s “tomorrow” wasn’t like today. The future was already a memory; the crowds just didn’t know it yet, or did not care.