Sometimes a random photograph affects me profoundly, in the same manner as does scent for other people.
I marked this one as a favorite many months ago. When I saw it, I was immediately 17, cutting school to peruse the streets of Berkeley. The door to Anapurna is open and I can smell the sandalwood incense, the mustiness intensified by a recent rainshower. I meet a fellow who claims to be a poet, a flask stuffed into his back pocket. We sit on the stairs of the Student Union Building, talking.
Memory is powerful. How does it feel to be 17, wearing the skin of fresh young adulthood to disguise childhood insecurities?