Steve liked to retrace his steps, 20-odd years after the fact. He’d return to the places he used to live, buildings where he used to work, classrooms he used to sit in. The flights could be expensive, but they always worked their magic.
The classrooms in Austin—they still had that specific soapy smell. The honeymoon duplex in San Francisco—had that tree always been there? The house of that girl he never asked out in Williamsburg—the air still felt the same. And the light.
Sometimes Steve laughed. Sometimes he’d have to sit down, collect his thoughts. Sometimes he wept.