He accumulated that wealth of memories like the lady down the street accumulated cats. There came a point where he wondered how many of them were actually his, or if they blew in from the neighbors like tumbleweeds, to sit on the lawn and bump against the door with every breeze. The time he hiked old Buffalo and got caught on the top in an autumn squall, was that his? Or was that the young man down the street who often walked by with a pack taller than himself strapped to his back? Or the car accident that left him with a limp and revoked license… had it happened on his corner before they put in the light? Or had he read it in the Gazette? He spent his days sitting at the window, in a scatter of newspaper pages and inserts, watching life spin by, wondering if the life he recalled was one he had actually lived or merely a collection of his imagination.
Thank you to Linda for a great prompt. Head over to SoCS to be inspired and for the participation rules!