Recording

This was not some empty hypothetical existing only in the kerning between letters, the whitespace after new paragraphs, the margin bounding the text on a page. When the summer solstice came and went in ’99,  I had no job, a few thousand dollars in a checking account, a cheap roof over my head, and personal effects amounting to no more than the books and clothes I could squeeze into one suitcase. I was a flesh-and-blood person choosing to live the last year of the millenium as but another solitary witness to the waning day and age.