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  • Today, while wandering the Melrose Trading Post flea market we ran across a table of old photos.

    "Which ones should I get?" I ask. I leaf through 80's wedding pictures and 50's portraits and trips to Disney land and blurry polaroids of dogs. I like the candids the best, women caught in mirrors and children laughing obliviously.

    Jack sighs, "None of them."

    "What? Why? These are amazing." The styles and places and people are as foreign as the future. And at the same time, they are familiar. "I just want to take them all home. I want all these moments."

    "You'd have to buy the whole bin." He turns away, "They don't make sense out of context."

    I am silent, still sifting through. Then I look around, watching the man with orange hair, the elderly Jewish couples, the hipsters with skinny jeans and midriffs showing, and the guy from ZZ Top; all pondering pieces of other people's lives.

    I say, to no one in particular, "Do any of us?"
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