"Road Cases." - Drive By Truckers

I lugged my guitar down to Peter Jones last night, to plug into my Fender Bassman amp, and test out my new pickup. It was hot, I was loaded down with my guitar case and my effects-board in a backpack slung over my shoulder. The El was crowded, I found a seat and clasped my guitar between my legs. I'm always impressed by the anonymous nature of riding on the El. City people from all walks of life converge in a little train car, they sit silently, seemingly seeing nothing (we see it all!), no eye contact, no interaction, just people sitting, listening to the roar of the train.

I de-trained at the Irving stop, and as I was walking down the platform, I saw an image of myself as a thirteen year old boy, lugging a guitar down a suburban street. I thought about the continuity of a life. In many ways, I am so different than that little, unsure, kid, but at the same time, aren't these the same blue eyes, haven't they seen everything, recorded it all, filed it away in the recesses of my brain? How do we choose to remember what we remember? How do we choose to forget what we forget? I manuevered through the turnstile and it clicked, registering another traveler on the road.